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UNCLE  REMUS 

HIS  SONGS  AND  HIS  SAYINGS 

BY 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


NEW  YORK 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

1903 


Copyright,  1880,  1895, 

By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


<f73 


PREFACE  AND  DEDICATION 
TO  THE  NEW  EDITION. 


To  Arthur  Burdette  Frost : 

My  dear  Frost  : I am  expected  to  supply  a preface 
for  this  new  edition  of  my  first  book — to  advance  from 
behind  the  curtain,  as  it  were,  and  make  a fresh  bow  to 
the  public  that  has  dealt  with  Uncle  Remus  in  so 
gentle  and  generous  a fashion.  For  this  event  the 
lights  are  to  be  rekindled,  and  I am  expected  to 
respond  in  some  formal  way  to  an  encore  that  marks 
the  fifteenth  anniversary  of  the  book.  There  have 
been  other  editions — how  many  I do  not  remember — 
but  this  is  to  be  an  entirely  new  one,  except  as  to  the 
matter : new  type,  new  pictures,  and  new  binding. 

But,  as  frequently  happens  on  such  occasions,  I 
am  at  a loss  for  a word.  I seem  to  see  before  me  the 
smiling  faces  of  thousands  of  children — some  young 
and  fresh,  and  some  wearing  the  friendly  marks  of  age, 
but  all  children  at  heart — and  not  an  unfriendly  face 
among  them.  And  out  of  the  confusion,  and  while  I 


IV 


PREFACE  AND  DEDICATION. 


am  trying  hard  to  speak  the  right  word,  I seem  to  hear 
a voice  lifted  above  the  rest,  saying  : “ You  have  made 
some  of  us  happy.”  And  so  I feel  my  heart  fluttering 
and  my  lips  trembling,  and  I have  to  bow  silently  and 
turn  away,  and  hurry  back  into  the  obscurity  that  fits 
me  best. 

Phantoms  ! Children  of  dreams  ! True,  my  dear 
Frost;  but  if  you  could  see  the  thousands  of  letters 
that  have  come  to  me  from  far  and  near,  and  all  fresh 
from  the  hearts  and  hands  of  children,  and  from  men 
and  women  who  have  not  forgotten  how  to  be  chil- 
dren, you  would  not  wonder  at  the  dream.  And  such 
a dream  can  do  no  harm.  Insubstantial  though  it  may 
be,  I would  not  at  this  hour  exchange  it  for  all  the 
fame  won  by  my  mightier  brethren  of  the  pen — whom 
I most  humbly  salute. 

Measured  by  the  material  developments  that  have 
compressed  years  of  experience  into  the  space  of  a day, 
thus  increasing  the  possibilities  of  life,  if  not  its  beauty, 
fifteen  years  constitute  the  old  age  of  a book.  Such  a 
survival  might  almost  be  said  to  be  due  to  a tiny  sluice 
of  green  sap  under  the  gray  bark.  Where  it  lies  in  the 
matter  of  this  book,  or  what  its  source — if,  indeed,  it 
be  really  there — is  more  of  a mystery  to  my  middle  age 
than  it  was  to  my  prime. 

But  it  would  be  no  mystery  at  all  if  this  new 
edition  were  to  be  more  popular  than  the  old  one.  Do 
you  know  why  ? Because  you  have  taken  it  under 


PREFACE  AND  DEDICATION. 


Y 


your  hand  and  made  it  yours.  Because  you  have 
breathed  the  breath  of  life  into  these  amiable  brethren 
of  wood  and  field.  Because,  by  a stroke  here  and  a 
touch  there,  you  have  conveyed  into  their  quaint  antics 
the  illumination  of  your  own  inimitable  humor,  which 
is  as  true  to  our  sun  and  soil  as  it  is  to  the  spirit  and 
essence  of  the  matter  set  forth. 

The  book  was  mine,  but  now  you  have  made  it 
yours,  both  sap  and  pith.  Take  it,  therefore,  my  dear 
Frost,  and  believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 


Joel  Chandler  Harris. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I am  advised  bv  my  publishers  that  this  book  is  to  J 
be  included  in  their  catalogue  of  humorous  publications, 
and  this  friendly  warning  gives  me  an  opportunity  to 
say  that  however  humorous  it  may  be  in  effect,  its  in- 
tention is  perfectly  serious  ; and,  even  if  it  were  other- 
wise, it  seems  to  me  that  a volume  written  wholly  in 
dialect  must  have  its  solemn,  not  to  say  melancholy, 
features.  With  respect  to  the  Folk-Lore  series,  mylj 
purpose  has  been  to  preserve  the  legends  themselves  in 
their  original  simplicity,  and  to  wed  them  permanently 
to  the  quaint  dialect — if,  indeed,  it  can  be  called  a 
dialect — through  the  medium  of  which  they  have  be- 
come a part  of  the  domestic  history  of  every  Southern 
family  ; and  I have  endeavored  to  give  to  the  whole  a 
genuine  flavor  of  the  old  plantation. 

Each  legend  has  its  variants,  but  in  every  instance  I 
have  retained  that  particular  version  which  seemed  to 
me  to  be  the  most  characteristic,  and  have  given  it 
without  embellishment  and  without  exaggeration.  The 
dialect,  it  will  be  observed,  is  wholly  different  from  that 

vii 


Vlll 


INTRODUCTION. 


of  the  Hon.  Pompey  Smash  and  his  literary  descend- 
ants, and  different  also  from  the  intolerable  misrepre- 
sentations of  the  minstrel  stage,  but  it  is  at  least  pho- 
| netically  genuine.  Nevertheless,  if  the  language  of 
Uncle  Remus  fails  to  give  vivid  hints  of  the  really 
poetic  imagination  of  the  negro  ; if  it  fails  to  embody 
the  quaint  and  homely  humor  which  was  his  most 
prominent  characteristic ; if  it  does  not  suggest  a cer- 
tain picturesque  sensitiveness — a curious  exaltation  of 
mind  and  temperament  not  to  be  defined  by  words — 
then  I have  reproduced  the  form  of  the  dialect  merely, 
and  not  the  essence,  and  my  attempt  may  be  accounted 
a failure.  At  any  rate,  I trust  I have  been  successful 
in  presenting  what  must  be,  at  least  to  a large  portion 
of  American  readers,  a new  and  by  no  means  unattract- 
ive phase  of  negro  character — a phase  which  may  be 
considered  a curiously  sympathetic  supplement  to  Mrs. 
Stowe’s  wonderful  defense  of  slavery  as  it  existed  in 
the  South.  Mrs.  Stowe,  let  me  hasten  to  say,  attacked 
the  possibilities  of  slavery  with  all  the  eloquence  of 
genius  ; but  the  same  genius  painted  the  portrait  of  the 
^Southern  slave-owner,  and  defended  him. 

A number  of  the  plantation  legends  originally  ap- 
peared in  the  columns  of  a daily  newspaper — The  At- 
lanta Constitution — and  in  that  shape  they  attracted  the 
attention  of  various  gentlemen  who  were  kind  enough 
to  suggest  that  they  would  prove  to  be  valuable  contribu- 
tions to  myth-literature.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


ethnological  considerations  formed  no  part  of  the  un- 
dertaking which  has  resulted  in  the  publication  of  this 
volume.  Professor  J.  W.  Powell,  of  the  Smithsonian 
Institution,  who  is  engaged  in  an  investigation  of  the 
mythology  of  the  North  American  Indians,  informs  me 
that  some  of  Uncle  Remus’s  stories  appear  in  a number 
of  different  languages,  and  in  various  modified  forms, 
among  the  Indians  ; and  he  is  of  the  opinion  that  they 
are  borrowed  by  the  negroes  from  the  red-men.  But 
this,  to  say  the  least,  is  extremely  doubtful,  since  an- 
other investigator  (Mr.  Herbert  H.  Smith,  author  of 
Brazil  and  the  Amazons)  has  met  with  some  of  these 
stories  among  tribes  of  South  American  Indians,  and 
one  in  particular  he  has  traced  to  India,  and  as  far  east 
as  Siam.  Mr.  Smith  has  been  kind  enough  to  send  me 
the  proof-sheets  of  his  chapter  on  The  Myths  and 
Folk-Lore  of  the  Amazonian  Indians,  in  which  he  re- 
produces some  of  the  stories  which  he  gathered  while 
exploring  the  Amazons. 

In  the  first  of  his  series,  a tortoise  falls  from  a tree 
upon  the  head  of  a jaguar  and  kills  him ; in  one  of 
Uncle  Remus’s  stories,  the  terrapin  falls  from  a shelf  in 
Miss  Meadows’s  house  and  stuns  the  fox,  so  that  the 
latter  fails  to  catch  the  rabbit.  In  the  next,  a jaguar 
catches  a tortoise  by  the  hind-leg  as  he  is  disappearing 
in  his  hole ; but  the  tortoise  convinces  him  he  is  hold- 
ing a root,  and  so  escapes ; Uncle  Remus  tells  how  the 
fox  endeavored  to  drown  the  terrapin,  but  turned  him 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


loose  because  the  terrapin  declared  his  tail  to  be  only  a 
stump-root.  Mr.  Smith  also  gives  the  story  of  how  the 
tortoise  outran  the  deer,  which  is  identical  as  to  incident 
with  Uncle  Remus’s  story  of  how  Brer  Tarrypin  outran 
Brer  Rabbit.  Then  there  is  the  story  of  how  the  tortoise 
pretended  that  he  was  stronger  than  the  tapir.  He  tells 
the  latter  he  can  drag  him  into  the  sea,  but  the  tapir 
retorts  that  he  will  pull  the  tortoise  into  the  forest  and 
kill  him  besides.  The  tortoise  thereupon  gets  a vine- 
stem,  ties  one  end  around  the  body  of  the  tapir,  and 
goes  to  the  sea,  where  he  ties  the  other  end  to  the  tail 
of  a whale.  He  then  goes  into  the  wood,  midway  be- 
tween them  both,  and  gives  the  vine  a shake  as  a signal 
for  the  pulling  to  begin.  The  struggle  between  the 
whale  and  tapir  goes  on  until  each  thinks  the  tortoise 
is  the  strongest  of  animals.  Compare  this  with  the 
story  of  the  terrapin’s  contest  with  the  bear,  in  which 
Miss  Meadows’s  bed-cord  is  used  instead  of  a vine-stem. 
One  of  the  most  characteristic  of  Uncle  Remus’s  stories 
is  that  in  which  the  rabbit  proves  to  Miss  Meadows  and 
the  girls  that  the  fox  is  his  riding-horse.  This  is  almost 
identical  with  a story  quoted  by  Mr.  Smith,  where  the 
jaguar  is  about  to  marry  the  deer’s  daughter.  The 
cotia — a species  of  rodent — is  also  in  love  with  her,  and 
he  tells  the  deer  that  he  can  make  a riding-horse  of  the 
jaguar.  “Well,”  says  the  deer,  “if  you  can  make  the 
jaguar  carry  you,  you  shall  have  my  daughter.”  There- 
upon the  story  proceeds  pretty  much  as  Uncle  Remus 


INTRODUCTION. 


xi 


tells  it  of  tlie  fox  and  rabbit.  The  cotia  finally  jumps 
from  the  jaguar  and  takes  refuge  in  a hole,  where  an 
owl  is  set  to  watch  him,  but  he  flings  sand  in  the  owl’s 
eyes  and  escapes.  In  another  story  given  by  Mr. 
Smith,  the  cotia  is  very  thirsty,  and,  seeing  a man  com- 
ing with  a jar  on  his  head,  lies  down  in  the  road 
in  front  of  him,  and  repeats  this  until  the  man  puts 
down  his  jar  to  go  back  after  all  the  dead  cotias  he  has 
seen.  This  is  almost  identical  with  Uncle  Eemus’s 
story  of  how  the  rabbit  robbed  the  fox  of  his  game. 
In  a story  from  Upper  Egypt,  a fox  lies  down  in  the 
road  in  front  of  a man  who  is  carrying  fowls  to 
market,  and  finally  succeeds  in  securing  them. 

This  similarity  extends  to  almost  every  story  quoted 
by  Mr.  Smith,  and  some  are  so  nearly  identical  as  to 
point  unmistakably  to  a common  origin  ; but  when  and 
where  ? When  did  the  negro  or  the  North  American 
Indian  ever  come  in  contact  with  the  tribes  of  South 
America  ? Upon  this  point  the  author  of  Brazil  and 
the  Amazons,  who  is  engaged  in  making  a critical  and 
comparative  study  of  these  myth-stories,  writes  : 

“ I am  not  prepared  to  form  a theory  about  these  stories. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  some  of  them,  found  among  the 
negroes  and  the  Indians,  had  a common  origin.  The  most 
natural  solution  would  be  to  suppose  that  they  originated  in 
Africa,  and  were  carried  to  South  America  by  the  negro 
slaves.  They  are  certainly  found  among  the  Red  Negroes ; 
but,  unfortunately  for  the  African  theory,  it  is  equally  cer- 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


tain  that  they  are  told  by  savage  Indians  of  the  Amazons 
Valley,  away  up  on  the  Tapajos,  Red  Negro,  and  Tapura. 
These  Indians  hardly  ever  see  a negro,  and  their  languages 
are  very  distinct  from  the  broken  Portuguese  spoken  by  the 
slaves.  The  form  of  the  stories,  as  recounted  in  the  Tupi 
and  Mundurucu  languages,  seems  to  show  that  they  were 
originally  formed  in  those  languages  or  have  long  been 
adopted  in  them. 

“ It  is  interesting  to  find  a story  from  Upper  Egypt  (that 
of  the  fox  who  pretended  to  be  dead)  identical  with  an 
Amazonian  story,  and  strongly  resembling  one  found  by 
you  among  the  negroes.  Varnhagen,  the  Brazilian  historian 
(now  Visconde  de  Rio  Branco),  tried  to  prove  a relationship 
between  the  ancient  Egyptians,  or  other  Turanian  stock,  and 
the  Tupi  Indians.  His  theory  rested  on  rather  a slender 
basis,  yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  had  one  or  two  strong 
points.  Do  the  resemblances  between  Old  and  New  World 
stories  point  to  a similar  conclusion  ? It  would  be  hard  to 
say  with  the  material  that  we  now  have. 

“ One  thing  is  certain.  The  animal  stories  told  by  the 
negroes  in  our  Southern  States  and  in  Brazil  were  brought 
by  them  from  Africa.  Whether  they  originated  there,  or 
with  the  Arabs,  or  Egyptians,  or  with  yet  more  ancient 
nations,  must  still  be  an  open  question.  Whether  the  In- 
dians got  them  from  the  negroes  or  from  some  earlier  source 
is  equally  uncertain.  We  have  seen  enough  to  know  that  a 
very  interesting  line  of  investigation  has  been  opened.” 

Professor  Ilartt,  in  his  Amazonian  Tortoise  Myths, 
quotes  a story  from  the  Riverside  Magazine  of  Novem- 
ber, 1868,  which  will  be  recognized  as  a variant  of  one 
given  by  Uncle  Remus.  I venture  to  append  it  here, 


INTRODUCTION. 


xm 


with  some  necessary  verbal  and  phonetic  alterations,  in 
order  to  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  difference  be- 
tween the  dialect  of  the  cotton  plantations,  as  used  by 
Uncle  Remus,  and  the  lingo  in  vogue  on  the  rice 
plantations  and  Sea  Islands  of  the  South  Atlantic 
States : 

“One  time  B’er  Deer  an’  B’er  Cooter  (Terrapin)  was 
courtin’,  and  de  lady  did  bin  lub  B’er  Deer  mo’  so  dan  B’er 
Cooter.  She  did  bin  lub  B’er  Cooter,  but  she  lub  B’er  Deer 
de  morest.  So  de  noung  lady  say  to  B’er  Deer  and  B’er 
Cooter  bofe  dat  dey  mus’  hab  a ten-mile  race,  an’  de  one  dat 
beats,  she  will  go  marry  him. 

“ So  B’er  Cooter  say  to  B’er  Deer : ‘ You  has  got  mo’ 
longer  legs  dan  I has,  but  I will  run  you.  You  run  ten  mile 
on  land,  and  I will  run  ten  mile  on  de  water ! ’ 

“ So  B’er  Cooter  went  an’  git  nine  er  his  fam’ly,  an’  put 
one  at  ebery  mile-pos’,  and  he  hisse’f,  what  was  to  run  wid 
B’er  Deer,  he  was  right  in  front  of  de  young  lady’s  do’,  in 
de  broom-grass. 

“ Dat  mornin’  at  nine  o’clock,  B’er  Deer  he  did  met  B’er 
Cooter  at  de  fus  mile-pos’,  wey  dey  was  to  start  fum.  So  he 
call : ‘Well,  B’er  Cooter,  is  you  ready  ? Go  long ! ’ As  he 
git  on  to  de  nex’  mile-pos’,  he  say:  ‘B’er  Cooter!’  B’er 
Cooter  say:  ‘Hullo!’  B’er  Deer  say:  ‘You  dere?’  B’er 
Cooter  say : ‘Yes,  B’er  Deer,  I dere  too.’ 

“Nex’  mile-pos’  he  jump,  B’er  Deer  say:  ‘Hullo,  B’er 
Cooter ! ’ B’er  Cooter  say : ‘ Hullo,  B’er  Deer  ! you  dere 
too  ? ’ B’er  Deer  say : ‘ Ki ! it  look  like  you  gwine  fer  tie 
me ; it  look  like  we  gwine  fer  de  gal  tie  ! ’ 

“ W’en  he  git  to  de  nine-mile  pos’  he  tought  he  git  dere 
fus,  ’cause  he  mek  two  jump ; so  he  holler : ‘ B’er  Cooter ! ’ 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION. 


B’er  Cooter  answer : ‘ You  dere  too  ? ’ B’er  Deer  say : ‘ It 
look  like  you  gwine  tie  me.’  B’er  Cooter  say : ‘ Go  long, 
B’er  Deer.  I git  dere  in  due  season  time,’  which  he  does, 
and  wins  de  race.” 

The  story  of  the  Rabbit  and  the  Fox,  as  told  by  the 
Southern  negroes,  is  artistically  dramatic  in  this  : it 
progresses  in  an  orderly  way  from  a beginning  to  a 
well-defined  conclusion,  and  is  full  of  striking  episodes 
that  suggest  the  culmination.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  to 
a certain  extent  allegorical,  albeit  such  an  interpretation 
may  be  unreasonable.  At  least  it  is  a fable  thoroughly 
characteristic  of  the  negro ; and  it  needs  no  scientific 
investigation  to  show  why  he  selects  as  his  hero  the 
weakest  and  most  harmless  of  all  animals,  and  brings  him 
out  victorious  in  contests  with  the  bear,  the  wolf,  and 
the  fox.  It  is  not  virtue  that  triumphs,  but  helplessness  ; 
it  is  not  malice,  but  mischievousness.  It  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous in  me  to  offer  an  opinion  as  to  the  origin  of 
these  curious  myth-stories  ; but,  if  ethnologists  should 
discover  that  they  did  not  originate  with  the  African, 
the  proof  to  that  effect  should  be  accompanied  with  a 
good  deal  of  persuasive  eloquence. 

Curiously  enough,  I have  found  few  negroes  who 
will  acknowledge  to  a stranger  that  they  know  anything 
of  these  legends ; and  yet  to  relate  one  of  the  stories 
is  the  surest  road  to  their  confidence  and  esteem.  In 
this  way,  and  in  this  way  only,  I have  been  enabled  to 
collect  and  verify  the  folk-lore  included  in  this  volume. 


INTRODUCTION. 


xv 


There  is  an  anecdote  about  the  Irishman  and  the  rabbit 
which  a number  of  negroes  have  told  to  me  with  great 
unction,  and  which  is  both  funny  and  characteristic, 
though  I will  not  undertake  to  say  that  it  has  its  origin 
with  the  blacks.  One  day  an  Irishman  who  had  heard 
people  talking  about  “ mares’  nests  ” was  going  along 
the  big  road — it  is  always  the  big  road  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  neighborhood  paths  and  by-paths,  called  in  the 
vernacular  “ nigh-cuts  ” — when  he  came  to  a puinpkin- 
patch.  The  Irishman  had  never  seen  any  of  this  fruit 
before,  and  he  at  once  concluded  that  he  had  discovered 
a veritable  mare’s  nest.  Making  the  most  of  his  oppor- 
tunity, he  gathered  one  of  the  pumpkins  in  his  arms 
and  went  on  his  way.  A pumpkin  is  an  exceedingly 
awkward  thing  to  carry,  and  the  Irishman  had  not 
gone  far  before  he  made  a misstep,  and  stumbled.  The 
pumpkin  fell  to  the  ground,  rolled  down  the  hill  into  a 
“ brush-heap,”  and,  striking  against  a stump,  was  broken. 
The  story  continues  in  the  dialect : “ W’en  de  punkin 
roll  in  de  bresh-heap,  out  jump  a rabbit;  en  soon’s  de 
I’shmuns  see  dat,  he  take  atter  de  rabbit  en  holler : 

‘ Kworp,  colty  ! kworp,  colty ! ’ but  de  rabbit,  he  des 
flew.”  The  point  of  this  is  obvious. 

As  to  the  songs,  the  reader  is  warned  that  it  will  be 
found  difficult  to  make  them  conform  to  the  ordinary 
rules  of  versification,  nor  is  it  intended  that  they  should 
so  conform.  They  are  written,  and  are  intended  to  be 
read,  solely  with  reference  to  the  regular  and  invariable 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


recurrence  of  the  caesura,  as,  for  instance,  the  first  stanza 
of  the  Revival  Hymn  : 

“ Oh,  whar  | shill  we  go  | w’en  de  great  | day  comes  [ 

Wid  de  blow  | in’  er  de  trumpits  | en  de  bang  | in’  er  de 
drums  | 

How  man  | y po’  sin  | ners’ll  be  kotch’d  | out  late 
En  fine  | no  latch  | ter  de  gold  | en  gate  | ” 

In  other  words,  the  songs  depend  for  their  melody 
and  rhythm  upon  the  musical  quality  of  time,  and  not 
upon  long  or  short,  accented  or  unaccented  syllables. 
I am  persuaded  that  this  fact  led  Mr.  Sidney  Lanier, 
who  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  metrical  peculiari- 
ties of  negro  songs,  into  the  exhaustive  investigation 
which  has  resulted  in  the  publication  of  his  scholarly 
treatise  on  The  Science  of  English  Verse. 

The  difference  between  the  dialect  of  the  legends 
and  that  of  the  character-sketches,  slight  as  it  is,  marks 
the  modifications  which  the  speech  of  the  negro  has 
undergone  even  where  education  has  played  no  part  in 
reforming  it.  Indeed,  save  in  the  remote  country  dis- 
tricts, the  dialect  of  the  legends  has  nearly  disappeared. 
I am  perfectly  well  aware  that  the  character-sketches  are 
without  permanent  interest,  but  they  are  embodied  here 
for  the  purpose  of  presenting  a phase  of  negro  char- 
acter wholly  distinct  from  that  which  I have  endeav- 
ored to  preserve  in  the  legends.  Only  in  this  shape, 
and  with  all  the  local  allusions,  would  it  be  possible  to 
adequately  represent  the  shrewd  observations,  the  curi- 


INTRODUCTION. 


XVII 


ous  retorts,  the  homely  thrusts,  the  quaint  comments, 
and  the  humorous  philosophy  of  the  race  of  which 
Uncle  Remus  is  the  type. 


If  the  reader  not  familiar  with  plantation  life  will 


imagine  that  the  myth-stories  of  Uncle  Remus  are  told 


night  after  night  to  a little  boy  by  an  old  negro  who 
appears  to  be  venerable  enough  to  have  lived  during 
the  period  which  he  describes — who  has  nothing  but 
pleasant  memories  of  the  discipline  of  slavery — and 
who  has  all  the  prejudices  of  caste  and  pride  of  family 
that  were  the  natural  results  of  the  system ; if  the 
reader  can  imagine  all  this,  he  will  find  little  difficulty 
in  appreciating  and  sympathizing  with  the  air  of  affec- 
tionate superiority  which  Uncle  Remus  assumes  as  he 
proceeds  to  unfold  the  mysteries  of  plantation  lore  to  a 
little  child  who  is  the  product  of  that  practical  recon- 
struction which  has  been  going  on  to  some  extent  since 
the  war  in  spite  of  the  politicians.  Uncle  Remus  de- 
scribes that  reconstruction  in  his  Story  of  the  War,  and 
I may  as  well  add  here  for  the  benefit  of  the  curiou 
that  that  story  is  almost  literally  true. 


J.  C.  H. 


2 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Legends  of  the  Old  Plantation. 

I. — Uncle  Remus  initiates  the  Little  Boy  ....  3 

/•'ll. — The  Wonderful  Tar-Baby  Story 7 

III.  — Why  Mr.  Possum  loves  Peace 11 

IV.  — How  Mr.  Rabbit  was  too  sharp  for  Mr.  Fox  . . 16  ^ 

V.  — The  Story  of  the  Deluge,  and  how  it  came  about  . 20 

VI.  — Mr.  Rabbit  grossly  deceives  Mr.  Fox  . . . 24  / 

YI I. — Mr.  Fox  is  again  victimized 30  ^ 

VIII — Mr.  Fox  is  “ outdone  ” by  Mr.  Buzzard  ...  36 

,/dX. — Miss  Cow  falls  a Victim  to  Mr.  Rabbit  . . .41* 

X. — Mr.  Terrapin  appears  upon  the  Scene ....  47 

XI. — Mr.  Wolf  makes  a Failure 53 

XII. — Mr.  Wolf  tackles  Old  Man  Tarrypin  ....  58 

XIII.  — The  Awful  Fate  of  Mr.  Wolf 62 

XIV.  — Mr.  Fox  and  the  Deceitful  Frogs  . . . 68  V 

^/•XV. — Mr.  Fox  goes  a-hunting,  but  Mr.  Rabbit  bags  the  Game  72  ^ 

XVI. — Old  Mr.  Rabbit,  he’s  a Good  Fisherman  ...  75 

XVII. — Mr.  Rabbit  nibbles  up  the  Butter  ....  80 

XVIII. — Mr.  Rabbit  finds  his  Match  at  last  ....  86 

XIX. — The  Fate  of  Mr.  Jack  Sparrow 92 

XX. — How  Mr.  Rabbit  saved  his  Meat 98 

XXI. — Mr.  Rabbit  meets  his  Match  again  ....  103 


xix 


XX 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


XXII. — A Story  about  the  Little  Rabbits  ....  107 

v XXIII. — Mr.  Rabbit  and  Mr.  Bear Ill 

XXIV. — Mr.  Bear  catches  Old  Mr.  Bull-Frog  . . . 115 

^XXV. — How  Mr.  Rabbit  lost  his  Fine  Bushy  Tail  . . 120 

XXVI. — Mr.  Terrapin  shows  his  Strength  ....  124 

XXVII. — Why  Mr.  Possum  has  no  Hair  on  his  Tail  . . 129 

XXVIII.— The  End  of  Mr.  Bear 135 

XXIX. — Mr.  Fox  gets  into  Serious  Business  ....  140  N/ 
s*XXX. — How  Mr.  Rabbit  succeeded  in  raising  a Dust  . . 146 

XXXI. — A Plantation  Witch 150 

XXXII. — “ Jacky-my-Lantern  ” 156 

XXXIII.— Why  the  Negro  is  Black 163 

XXXIV.— The  Sad  Fate  of  Mr.  Fox 165  ** 

Plantation  Proverbs 173 


His  Songs. 

I. — Revival  Hymn  ... 

II. — Camp-Meeting  Song  . 

III.  — Corn-Shucking  Song 

IV.  — The  Plough-hands’  Song  . 

V. — Christmas  Play-Song 

VI. — Plantation  Play-Song 

VII. — Transcriptions : 

1.  A Plantation  Chant 

2.  A Plantation  Serenade 

VIII. — De  Big  Bethel  Church 

IX. — Time  goes  by  Turns  . 


181 

182 

184 

188 

189 

191 

193 

195 

196 

197 


A Story  of  the  War 201 


His  Sayings. 

I. — Jeems  Rober’son’s  Last  Illness  .....  215 
II. — Uncle  Remus’s  Church  Experience  ....  216 


CONTENTS. 


xxi 


PAGE 

III.  — Uncle  Remus  and  the  Savannah  Darkey  . . . 220 

IV.  — Turnip  Salad  as  a Text 223 

V. — A Confession 224 

VI. — Uncle  Remus  with  the  Toothache  ....  226 

VII. — The  Phonograph 229 

VIII. — Race  Improvement 231 

IX. — In  the  Role  of  a Tartar 233 

X. — A Case  of  Measles 235 

XI. — The  Emigrants 238 

XII. — As  a Murderer 240 

XIII.  — His  Practical  View  of  Things 243 

XIV.  — That  Deceitful  Jug 245 

XV. — The  Florida  Watermelon 250 

XVI. — Uncle  Remus  preaches  to  a Convert  ....  253 

XVII. — As  to  Education 255 

XVIII. — A Temperance  Reformer 256 

XIX.  — As  a Weather  Prophet 258 

XX. — The  Old  Man’s  Troubles 260 

XXI.— The  Fourth  of  July 262 


LIST  OF  FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS, 


FACING 

PAGE 

“ Brer  Rabbit  ain't  see  no  peace  w’atsumever  ” Frontispiece 


“ Ef  you  don’t  lerame  loose  I’ll  knock  you  agin  ! ” . . 9 

“ En  den  he  tu’n  loose,  he  did  ” 32 

“ You  feels  de  fleas  a bitin’,  Brer  Wolf.”  ....  68 

“Run  yer,  Brer  Wolf!  Yo’  cow  gwine  in  de  groun’ ” . . 102 

“Hit  ’im  in  de  mouf,  Brer  Fox!” 113 

“ He  try  ter  walk  off  wid  Brer  Tarrypin  ” 128 

“Yer  come  a great  big  black  wolf” 155 

The  corn-shucking 185 

“ En  wadder  you  speck  I see1?” 211 

“ An’  I sot  down  an’  wrop  myse’f  roun’  de  whole  blessid 

chunk” 251 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION 


I. 


UNCLE  REMUS  INITIATES  THE  LITTLE  BOY. 


One  even-  , 
ing  recently, 
the  lady  whom  / y- 
Uncle  Remus 
calls  “ Miss 
Sally”  missed 
her  little  sev- 
en - year  - old 
boy.  Making 
search  for 

him  through  the  house  and 
through  the  yard,  she  heard 
the  sound  of  voices  in  the 
old  man’s  cabin,  and,  look- 
ing through  the  window, 
saw  the  child  sitting  by 
Uncle  Remus.  His  head 
rested  against  the  old  man’s 
arm,  and  he  was  gazing  with  an  expression  of  the 
most  intense  interest  into  the  rough,  weather-beaten 


4 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


face,  that  beamed  so  kindly  upon  him.  This  is  what 
“ Miss  Sally”  heard: 

“ Bimeby,  one  day,  arter  Brer  Fox  bin  doin’  all  dat 
he  could  fer  ter  ketch  Brer  Rabbit,  en  Brer  Rabbit  bin 
doin’  all  he  could  fer  to  keep  ’im  fum  it,  Brer  Fox  say 
to  hisse’f  dat  he’d  put  up  a game  on  Brer  Rabbit,  en 
he  ain’t  mo’n  got  de  wuds  out’n  his  mouf  twel  Brer 
Rabbit  come  a lopin’  up  de  big  road,  lookin’  des  ez 
plump,  en  ez  fat,  en  ez  sassy  ez  a Moggin  boss  in  a 
barley-patch. 

“ ‘ Hoi’  on  dar,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Brer  Fox, 
sezee. 

“‘I  ain’t  got  time,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee,  sorter  mendin’  his  licks. 

“ 4 1 wanter  have  some  confab  wid  you,  Brer  Rab- 
bit,’ sez  Brer  Foz,  sezee. 

“ 4 All  right,  Brer  Fox,  but  you  bette'r  holler  fum 
whar  you  stan’.  I’m  monstus  full  er  fleas  dis  mawnin’,’ 
sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

“‘I  seed  Brer  B’ar  yistiddy,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee, 
‘ en  he  sorter  rake  me  over  de  coals  kaze  you  en  me 
ain’t  make  frens  en  live  naberly,  en  I told  ’im  dat  I’d 
see  you.’ 

“ Den  Brer  Rabbit  scratch  one  year  wid  his  off 
hinefoot  sorter  jub’usly,  en  den  he  ups  en  sez,  sezee : 

“ ‘ All  a settin’,  Brer  Fox.  Spose’n  you  drap  roun’ 
ter-morrer  en  take  dinner  wid  me.  We  ain’t  got  no 
great  doin’s  at  our  house,  but  I speck  de  old  ’oman  en 


UNCLE  REMUS  INITIATES  THE  LITTLE  BOY.  5 

de  cliilluns  kin  sorter  scramble  roun’  en  git  up  sump’n 
fer  ter  stay  yo’  stummuck.’ 

44  4 I’m  ’gree’ble,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

44  4 Den  I’ll  ’pen’  on  you,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

44  Hex’  day,  Mr.  Rabbit  an’  Miss  Rabbit  got  up 
soon,  ’fo’  day,  en  raided  on  a gyarden  like  Miss  Sally’s 
out  dar,  en  got  some  cabbiges,  en  some  roas’11  years,  en 
some  sparrer-grass,  en  dey  fix  up  a smashin’  dinner. 
Bimeby  one  er  de  little  Rabbits,  playin’  out  in  de  back- 
yard, come  runnin’  in  hollerin’,  4 Oh,  ma ! oh,  ma ! I 
seed  Mr.  Fox  a cornin’!’  En  den  Brer  Rabbit  he 
tuck  de  cliilluns  by  der  years  en  make  um  set  down,  en 
den  him  and  Miss  Rabbit  sorter  dally  roun’  waitin’  for 
Brer  Fox.  En  dey  keep  on  waitin’,  but  no  Brer  Fox 
ain’t  come.  Atter  ’while  Brer  Rabbit  goes  to  de  do’, 
easy  like,  en  peep  out,  en  dar,  stickin’  fum  behime 
de  cornder,  wuz  de  tip-een’  er.  Brer  Fox  tail.  Den  Brer 
Rabbit  shot  de  do’  en  sot  down,  en  put  his  paws  behime 
his  years  en  begin  fer  ter  sing : 

“ ‘ De  place  wharbouts  you  spill  de  grease, 

Right  dar  youer  boun’  ter  slide, 

An’  whar  you  fine  a bunch  er  ha’r, 

You’ll  sholy  fine  de  hide.’ 

44  Hex’  day,  Brer  Fox  sont  word  by  Mr.  Mink,  en 
skuze  liisse’f  kaze  he  wuz  too  sick  fer  ter  come,  en  he 
ax  Brer  Rabbit  fer  to  come  en  take  dinner  wid  him,  en 
Brer  Rabbit  say  he  wuz  ’gree’ble. 


c 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Bimeby,  w’en  de  shadders  wuz  at  der  shortes’, 
Brer  Babbit  lie  sorter  brush  up  en  santer  down  ter  Brer 
Fox’s  house,  en  w’en  he  got  dar,  he  hear  somebody 
groanin’,  en  he  look  in  de  do’  en  dar  he  see  Brer  Fox 
settin’  up  in  a rockin’  cheer  all  wrop  up  wid  flannil,  en 
he  look  mighty  weak.  Brer  Babbit  look  all  ’roun’,  he 
did,  but  he  ain’t  see  no  dinner.  De  dish-pan  wuz  set- 
tin’  on  de  table,  en  close  by  wuz  a kyarvin’  knife. 


“ ‘ Look  like  you  gwineter  have  chicken  fer  dinner, 
Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

“ Yes,  Brer  Babbit,  deyer  nice,  en  fresh,  en  tender,’ 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit  sorter  pull  his  mustarsh,  en  say : 
‘You  ain’t  got  no  calamus  root,  is  you,  Brer  Fox?  I 
done  got  so  now  dat  I can’t  eat  no  chicken  ’ceppin  she’s 


THE  WONDERFUL  TAR-BABY  STORY. 


7 


seasoned  up  wid  calamus  root.’  En  wid  dat  Brer  Rab- 
bit lipt  out  er  de  do1  and  dodge  ’mong  de  bushes,  en 
sot  dar  watchin’  fer  Brer  Fox ; en  he  ain’t  watch  long, 
nudder,  kaze  Brer  Fox  flung  off  de  flannil  en  crope  out 
er  de  house  en  got  whar  he  could  cloze  in  on  Brer 
Rabbit,  en  bimeby  Brer  Rabbit  holler  out : 4 Oh,  Brer 
Fox!  I’ll  des  put  yo’  calamus  root  out  yer  on  dish  yer 
stump.  Better  come  git  it  while  hit’s  fresh,’  and  wid 
dat  Brer  Rabbit  gallop  off  home.  En  Brer  Fox  ain’t 
never  kotch  ’im  yit,  en  w’at’s  mo’,  honey,  he  ain’t 
gwineter.” 


ii. 

THE  WONDERFUL  TAR-BABY  STORY. 

“ Didn’t  the  fox  never  catch  the  rabbit,  Uncle 
Remus?”  asked  the  little  boy  the  next  evening. 

“ He  come  mighty  nigh  it,  honey,  sho’s  you  born — 
Brer  Fox  did.  One  day  atter  Brer  Rabbit  fool  ’im  wid 
dat  calamus  root,  Brer  Fox  went  ter  wuk  en  got  ’im 
some  tar,  en  mix  it  wid  some  turkentime,  en  fix  up  a 
contrapslmn  wat  he  call  a Tar-Baby,  en  he  tuck  dish 
yer  Tar-Baby  en  he  sot  ’er  in  de  big  road,  en  den  he  lay 
off  in  de  bushes  fer  to  see  wat  de  news  wuz  gwineter 
be.  En  he  didn’t  hatter  wait  long,  nudder,  kaze  bimeby 
here  come  Brer  Rabbit  pacin’  down  de  road — lippity- 
clippity,  clippity-lippity — dez  ez  sassy  ez  a jay-bird. 
Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low.  Brer  Rabbit  come  prancin’  ’long 


8 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


twel  lie  spy  de  Tar-Baby,  en  den  he  fotch  up  on  his  be- 
hime  legs  like  he  wuz  ’stonished.  De  Tar-Baby,  she 
sot  dar,  she  did,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 


44  4 Mawnin’ ! 5 sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee — ‘ nice  wedder 
dis  mawnin’,’  sezee. 

44  Tar-Baby  ain’t  sayin’  nothin’,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay 
low. 

44  4 How  duz  yo’  sym’tums  seem  ter  segashuate  ? ’ sez 
Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

44  Brer  Fox,  he  wink  his  eye  slow,  en  lay  low,  en  de 
Tar-Baby,  she  ain’t  sayin’  nothin’. 

44  4 How  you  come  on,  den  ? Is  you  deaf  ? ’ sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee.  4 Kaze  if  you  is,  I kin  holler  louder,’ 


sezee. 


THE  WONDERFUL  TAR-BABY  STORS. 


9 


44  Tar-Baby  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

44  4 Youer  stuck  up,  dat’s  w’at  you  is,’  says  Brer 


Rabbit,  sezee,  4en 
I’m  gwineter 
kyore  you,  dat’s 
w’at  I’m  a gwine- 
ter do,’  sezee. 


44  Brer  Fox,  he 
sorter  chuckle  in 
his  stummuck,  he 
did,  but  Tar-Baby 
ain’t  sayin’  noth- 


in’. 


44 4 I’m  gwine- 
ter larn  you  how- 


ter  talk  ter  ’spect- 

tubble  fokes  ef  hit’s  de  las’  ack,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee.  4 Ef  you  don’t  take  of!  dat  hat  en  tell  me 
howdy,  I’m  gwineter  bus’  you  wide  open,’  sezee. 

44  Tar-Baby  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

44  Brer  Rabbit  keep  on  axin’  ’im,  en  de  Tar-Baby, 
she  keep  on  sayin’  nothin’,  twel  present’y  Brer  Rabbit 
draw  back  wid  his  fis’,  he  did,  en  blip  he  tuck  ’er  side 
er  de  head.  Right  dar’s  whar  he  broke  his  merlasses 
jug.  His  fis’  stuck,  en  he  can’t  pull  loose.  De  tar  hilt 
’im.  But  Tar-Baby,  she  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay 
low. 

44  4 Ef  you  don’t  lemme  loose.  I’ll  knock  you  agin,’ 


3 


10 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  en  wid  dat  lie  fotch  ’er  a wipe 
wid  de  udder  ban’,  en  dat  stuck.  Tar-Baby,  she  ain’t 
say  in’  nothin’,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

“ ‘ Tu’n  me  loose,  fo’  I kick  de  natal  stuffin’  outen 
you,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  but  de  Tar-Baby,  she  ain’t 
sayin’  nothin’.  She  des  hilt  on,  en  den  Brer  Babbit 


lose  de  use  er  his  feet  in  de  same  way.  Brer  Fox,  he 
lay  low.  Den  Brer  Babbit  squall  out  dat  ef  de  Tar- 
Baby  don’t  tu’n  ’im  loose  he  butt  ’er  cranksided.  En 
den  he  butted,  en  his  head  got  stuck.  Den  Brer  Fox, 
he  sa’ntered  fort’,  lookin’  des  ez  innercent  ez  one  er 
yo’  mammy’s  mockin’-birds. 

“ ‘ Howdy,  Brer  Babbit,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee.  ‘ You 


Ef  you  don’t  lemme  loose  I’ll  knock  you  agin ! 


W1IY  MR.  POSSUM  LOVES  PEACE. 


11 


look  sorter  stuck  up  dis  mawnin’,’  sezee,  en  den  lie 
rolled  on  de  groun’,  en  laughed  en  laughed  wel  he 
couldn’t  laugh  no  mo’.  ‘I  speck  you’ll  take  dinner 
wid  me  dis  time,  Brer  Babbit.  I done  laid  in  some 
calamus  root,  en  I ain’t  gwineter  take  no  skuse,’  sez 
Brer  Fox,  sezee.” 

Here  Uncle  Kemus  paused,  and  drew  a two-pound 
yam  out  of  the  ashes. 

“ Did  the  fox  eat  the  rabbit  ? ” asked  the  little  boy 
to  whom  the  story  had  been  told. 

“ Dat’s  all  de  fur  de  tale  goes,”  replied  the  old  man. 
“ He  mout,  en  den  agin  he  moutent.  Some  say  Jedge 
B’ar  come  ’long  en  loosed  ’im — some  say  he  didn’t.  I 
hear  Miss  Sally  callin’.  You  better  run  ’long.” 


in. 

WHY  MR.  POSSUM  LOVES  PEACE. 

“ One  night,”  said  Uncle  Bemus — taking  Miss  Sah 
ly’s  little  boy  on  his  knee,  and  stroking  the  child’s  hair 
thoughtfully  and  caressingly — “ one  night  Brer  Possum 
call  by  fer  Brer  Coon,  ’cordin’  ter  greement,  en  atter 
gobblin’  up  a dish  er  fried  greens  en  smokin’  a seegyar, 
dey  rambled  fort’  fer  ter  see  how  de  ballance  er  de  set- 
tlement wuz  gittin’  ’long.  Brer  Coon,  he  wuz  one  er 
deze  yer  natchul  pacers,  en  he  racked  ’long  same  ez 


12  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

Mars  John’s  bay  pony,  en  Brer  Possum  he  went  in  a 
han’-gdlup ; en  dey  got*  over  heap  er  groun’,  raon. 
Brer  Possum,  lie  got  liis  belly  full  er  ’simmons,  en  Brer 
Coon,  he  scoop  up  a ’bunnunce  er  frogs  en  tadpoles. 
Dey  amble  ’long,  dey  did,  des  ez  sociable  ez  a basket  er 
kittens,  twel  bimeby  dey  hear  Mr.  Dog  talkin’  ter  hisse’f 
way  off  in  de  woods. 

“ ‘ Spozen  he  runs  up  on  us,  Brer  Possum,  w’at  you 
gwineter  do  ? ’ sez  Brer  Coon,  sezee.  Brer  Possum 
sorter  laugh  ’round  de  cornders  un  his  mouf. 

“ 6 Oh,  ef  he  come,  Brer  Coon,  Pm  gwineter  stan’ 
by  you,’  sez  Brer  Possum.  6 W’at  you  gwineter  do  ? ’ 
sezee. 

“ 6 Who?  me?’  sez  Brer  Coon.  ‘ Ef  he  run  up  onter 
me,  I lay  I give  ’im  one  twis’,’  sezee.” 

“ Did  the  dog  come  ? ” asked  the  little  boy. 

“ Go  ’way,  honey ! ” responded  the  old  man,  in  an 
impressive  tone.  “ Go  way  ! Mr.  Dog',  he  come  en  he 
come  a zoonin’.  En  he  ain’t  wait  fer  ter  say  howdy, 
rmdder.  He  des  sail  inter  de  two  un  um.  De  ve’y  fus 
pas  he  make  Brer  Possum  fetch  a grin  fum  year  ter 
year,  en  keel  over  like  he  wuz  dead.  Den  Mr.  Dog,  he 
sail  inter  Brer  Coon,  en  right  dar’s  whar  he  drap  his 
money  purse,  kaze  Brer  Coon  wuz  cut  out  fer  dat 
kinder  bizness,  en  he  fa’rly  wipe  up  de  face  er  de  yeth 
wid  ’im.  You  better  b’leeve  dat  w’en  Mr.  Dog  got  a 
chance  to  make  hisse’f  skase  he  tuck  it,  en  w’at  der 
wuz  lef’  un  him  went  skaddlin’  tlioo  de  woods  like  hit 


WHY  MR.  POSSUM  LOVES  PEACE. 


13 


wuz  shot  outen  a muskit.  Eli  Brer  Coon,  he  sorter 
lick  his  cloze  inter  shape  en  rack  off,  en  Brer  Possum, 


he  lay  dar  like  he 


cle’r  he  scramble  up  en 


scamper  off  like  sumpin  was  after  ’iin.” 

Here  Uncle  Bemus  paused  long  enough  to  pick  up 
a live  coal  of  fire  in  his  fingers,  transfer  it  to  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  and  thence  to  his  clay  pipe,  which  he  had 
been  filling — a proceeding  that  was  viewed  by  the  little 
boy  with  undisguised  admiration.  The  old  man  then 
proceeded : 


14 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Nex’  time  Brer  Possum  met  Brer  Coon,  Brer 
Coon  ’fuse  ter  ’spon’  ter  his  howdy,  en  dis  make  Brer 
Possum  feel  mighty  bad,  seein’  ez  how  dey  useter  make 
so  many  ’scurshuns  tergedder. 

“ 4 W’at  make  you  hoi’  yo’  head  so  high,  Brer  Coon  ? ’ 
sez  Brer  Possum,  sezee. 

44  4 1 ain’t  runnin’  wid  cowerds  deze  days,’  sez  Brer 
Coon.  4 W’en  I wants  you  I’ll  sen’  fer  you,’  sezee. 

44  Den  Brer  Possum  git  mighty  mad. 

44  4 Who’s  enny  cowerd  ? ’ sezee. 

44  4 You  is,’  sez  Brer  Coon,  4 dat’s  who.  I ain’t  so- 
shatin’  wid  dem  w’at  lays  down  on  de  groun’  en  plays 
dead  w’en  dar’s  a free  fight  gwine  on,’  sezee. 

44  Den  Brer  Possum  grin  en  laugh  fit  to  kill  hisse’f. 

44  4 Lor’,  Brer  Coon,  you  don’t  speck  I done  dat  kaze 
I wuz  ’feared,  duz  you  ? ’ sezee.  4 W’y  I want  no  mo’ 
’feared  dan  yon  is  dis  minnit.  W’at  wuz  dey  fer  ter  be 
skeered  un  ? ’ sezee.  4 1 know’d  you’d  git  away  wid 
Mr.  Dog  ef  I didn’t,  en  I des  lay  dar  watchin’  you 
shake  him,  waitin’  fer  ter  put  in  w’en  de  time  come,’ 
sezee. 

44  Brer  Coon  tu’n  up  his  nose. 

44  4 Dat’s  a mighty  likely  tale,’  sezee,  4 w’en  Mr.  Dog 
ain’t  mo’n  tech  you  ’fo’  you  keel  over,  en  lay  dar  stiff,’ 
sezee. 

44  4 Dat’s  des  w’at  I wuz  gwineter  tell  you  ’bout,’  sez 
Brer  Possum,  sezee.  4 1 want  no  mo’  skeer’d  dan  you 
is  right  now,  en’  I wuz  fixin’  fer  ter  give  Mr.  Dog  a 


WPIY  MR.  POSSUM  LOVES  PEACE. 


15 


sample  er  my  jaw,’  sezee,  ‘ but  I’m  de  most  ticklish 
chap  w’at  you  ever  laid  eyes  on,  en  no  sooner  did  Mr. 
Dog  put  his 
nose  down  yer 
’mong  my  ribs 
dan  I got  ter 
laughin’,  en  I 
laughed  twel  I 
ain’t  had  no  use 
er  my  lim’s,’ 
sezee, 4 en  it’s  a 
mussy  unto  Mr. 

Dog  dat  I 
wuz  tick- 
lish, kaze 

a little  mo’  en  I’d  e’t  ’im  up,’  sezee.  ‘ I don’t  mine 
fightin’,  Brer  Coon,  no  mo’  dan  you  duz,’  sezee,  ‘ but 
I declar’  ter  graslius  ef  I kin  stan’  ticklin’.  Git  me 
in  a row  whar  dey  ain’t  no  ticklin’  ’lowed,  en  I’m 
your  man,’  sezee. 

“ En  down  ter  dis  day  ” — continued  Uncle  Remus, 
watching  the  smoke  from  his  pipe  curl  upward  over 
the  little  boy’s  head — “ down  ter  dis  day,  Brer  Pos- 
sum’s bound  ter  s’render  w’en  you  tech  him  in  de  short 
ribs,  en  he’ll  laugh  ef  he  knows  he’s  gwineter  be 
smashed  fer  it.” 


16 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


IV. 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  WAS  TOO  SHARP  FOR  MR.  FOX. 

“ Uncle  Remus,”  said  the  little  boy  one  evening, 
when  he  had  found  the  old  man  with  little  or  nothing 
to  do,  “did  the  iox  kill  and  eat  the  rabbit  when  he 
caught  him  with  the  Tar-Baby  ? ” 

“ Law,  honey,  ain’t  I tell  you  ’bout  dat  ? ” replied 
the  old  darkey,  chuckling  slyly.  “ I ’clar  ter  graslius 
I ought  er  tole  you  dat,  but  old  man  Rod  wuz  ridin’  on 
my  eyeleds  ’twel  a leetle  mo’n  I’d  a dis’member’d  my 
own  name,  en  den  on  to  dat  here  come  yo’  mammy  hol- 
lerin’ atter  you. 

“ W’at  I tell  you  w’en  I fus’  begin  ? I tole  you 
Brer  Rabbit  wuz  a monstus  soon  creetur;  leas’ways 
dat’s  w’at  I laid  out  fer  ter  tell  you.  Well,  den,  honey, 
don’t  you  go  en  make  no  udder  calkalashuns,  kaze  in 
dem  days  Brer  Rabbit  en  his  fambly  wuz  at  de  head 
er  de  gang  w’en  enny  racket  wuz  on  han’,  en  dar  dey 
stayed.  ’Fo’  you  begins  fer  ter  wipe  yo’  eyes  ’bout 
Brer  Rabbit,  you  wait  en  see  whar’bouts  Brer  Rabbit 
gwineter  fetch  up  at.  But  dat’s  needer  yer  ner  dar. 

“ W’en  Brer  Fox  fine  Brer  Rabbit  mixt  up  wid  de 
Tar-Baby,  he  feel  mighty  good,  en  he  roll  on  de  groun’ 
en  laff.  Bimeby  he  up’n  say,  sezee  : 

“‘Well,  I speck  I got  you  dis  time,  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee ; ‘maybe  I ain’t,  but  I speck  I is.  You  been  run- 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  WAS  TOO  SHARP  FOR  MR.  FOX.  17 

nin’  roun’  here  sassin’  atter  me  a mighty  long  time,  but 
I speck  you  done  come  ter  de  een’  er  de  row.  You  bin 
cuttin’  up  yo’  capers  en  bouncin’  ’roun’  in  dis  neighbor- 
hood ontwel  you  come  ter  b’leeve  yo’se’f  de  boss  er  de 
whole  gang.  En  den  youer  allers  some’rs  whar  you  got 


no  bizness,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee.  6 Who  ax  you  fer  ter 
come  en  strike  up  a ’quaintance  wid  dish  yer  Tar-Baby  ? 
En  who  stuck  you  up  dar  whar  you  iz  ? Nobody  in  de 
roun’  worril.  You  des  tuck  en  jam  yo’se’f  on  dat  Tar- 
Baby  widout  waitin’  fer  enny  invite,’  sez  Brer  Fox, 
sezee,  ‘ en  dar  you  is,  en  dar  you’ll  stay  twel  I fixes  up 
a bresh-pile  and  fires  her  up,  kaze  I’m  gwineter  bobby- 
cue  you  dis  day,  sho,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit  talk  mighty  ’umble. 


18 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


44  4 1 don’t  keer  w’at  you  do  wid  me,  Brer  Fox,’ 
sezee,  4 so  you  don't  fling  me  in  dat  brier-patch.  Boas’ 
me,  Brer  Fox,’  sezee,  4 but  don’t  fling  me  in  dat  brier- 
patch,’  sezee. 

44  4 Hit’s  so  much  trouble  fer  ter  kindle  a fier,’  sez 
Brer  Fox,  sezee,  4 dat  I speck  I’ll  hatter  hang  you,’ 
sezee. 

44  4 Hang  me  des  ez  high  as  you  please,  Brer  Fox,’ 
sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  4 but  do  fer  de  Lord’s  sake  don’t 
fling  me  in  dat  brier-patch,’  sezee. 

44  4 1 ain’t  got  no  string,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee,  4en 
now  I speck  I’ll  hatter  drown  you,’  sezee. 

44  4 Drown  me  des  ez  deep  ez  you  please,  Brer  Fox,’ 
sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  4 but  do  don’t  fling  me  in  dat 
brier-patch,’  sezee. 

44  4 Dey  ain’t  no  water  nigh,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee, 
4 en  now  I speck  I’ll  hatter  skin  you,’  sezee. 

44  4 Skin  me,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee, 
4 snatch  out  my  eyeballs,  t’ar  out  my  years  by  de  roots, 
en  cut  off  my  legs,’  sezee,  4 but  do  please,  Brer  Fox, 
don’t  fling  me  in  dat  brier-patch,’  sezee. 

44  Co’se  Brer  Fox  wan  ter  hurt  Brer  Babbit  bad  ez 
he  kin,  so  he  cotch  ’im  by  de  behime  legs  en  slung  ’im 
right  in  de  middle  er  de  brier-patch.  Dar  wuz  a con- 
siderbul  flutter  whar  Brer  Babbit  struck  de  bushes,  en 
Brer  Fox  sorter  hang  ’roun’  fer  ter  see  w’at  wuz  gwine- 
ter  happen.  Bimeby  he  hear  somebody  call  ’im,  en  way 
up  de  hill  he  see  Brer  Babbit  settin’  cross-legged  on  a 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  WAS  TOO  SHARP  FOR  MR.  FOX.  19 


chinkapin  log  koamin’  de  pitch  outen  his  har  wid  a 
chip.  Den  Brer  Fox  know  dat  he  bin  swop  oft*  mighty 


bad.  Brer  Babbit  wuz  bleedzed  fer  ter  fling  back  some 
er  his  sass,  en  he  holler  out : 

“ ‘Bred  en  bawn  in  a brier-patch,  Brer  Fox — bred 
en  bawn  in  a brier-patch ! 5 en  wid  dat  he  skip  out  des 
ez  lively  ez  a cricket  in  de  embers.” 


20 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


y. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  DELUGE  AND  HOW  IT  CAME 
ABOUT. 

“ One  time,”  said  Uncle  Remus — adjusting  his  spec- 
tacles so  as  to  be  able  to  see  how  to  thread  a large  darn- 
ing-needle with  which  he  was  patching  his  coat — “ one 
time,  way  back  yander,  ’fo’  you  wuz  borned,  honey,  en 
’fo’  Mars  John  er  Miss  Sally  wuz  borned — way  back 
yander  ’fo’  enny  un  us  wuz  borned,  de  anemils  en  de 
creeturs  sorter  ’lecshuneer  roun’  ’mong  deyselves,  twel 
at  las’  dey  ’greed  fer  ter  have  a ’sembly.  In  dem  days,” 
continued  the  old  man,  observing  a look  of  incredulity 


on  the  little  boy’s  face,  “ in  dem  days  creeturs  had  lots 
mo’  sense  dan  dey  got  now ; let  ’lone  dat,  dey  had  sense 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  DELUGE. 


21 


same  like  folks.  Hit  was  tech  en  go  wid  um,  too,  mon, 
en  \v  e.i  dey  make  up  der  mines  w’at  hatter  be  done, 
’twant  mo’n  menshun’d  ’fo’  hit  wuz  done.  Well,  dey 
’lected  dat  dey  hatter  hole  er  ’sembly  fer  ter  sorter 
straighten  out  marters  en  hear  de  complaints,  en  w’en 
de  day  come  dey  wuz  on  hank  De  Lion,  he  wuz  dar, 
kase  he  wuz  de  king,  en  he  hatter  be  dar.  De  Rhynos- 
syhoss,  he  wuz  dar,  en  de  Elephent,  he  wuz  dar,  en  de 
Cammils,  en  de  Cows,  en  plum  down  ter  de  Crawfishes, 
dey  wuz  dar.  Dey  wuz  all  dar.  En  w’en  de  Lion 
shuck  his  mane,  en  tuck  his  seat  in  de  big  cheer,  den 
de  sesshun  begun  fer  ter  commence.”  . 

“ What  did  they  do,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy. 

“ I can’t  skacely  call  to  mine  ’zackly  w’at  dey  did 
do,  but  dey  spoke  speeches,  en  hollered,  en  cusst,  en 
flung  der  langwidge  ’roun’  des  like  w’en  yo’  daddy  wuz 
gwineter  run  fer  de  legislater  en  got  lef’.  Howsomever, 
dey  ’ranged  der  ’fairs,  en  splained  der  bizness.  Bimeby, 
w’ile  dey  wuz  ’sputin’  ’longer  one  er  nudder,  de  Ele- 
phent trompled  on  one  er  de  Crawfishes.  Co’se  w’en 
dat  creetur  put  his  foot  down,  w’atsumever’s  under  dar 
wuz  boun’  fer  ter  be  squshed,  en  dey  wa’n’t  nuff  er  dat 
Crawfish  lef’  fer  ter  tell  dat  he’d  bin  dar. 

“ Dis  make  de  udder  Crawfishes  mighty  mad,  en 
dey  sorter  swarmed  tergedder  en  draw’d  up  a kinder 
peramble  wid  some  wharfo’es  in  it,  en  read  her  out  in 
de  ’sembly.  But,  bless  grashus ! sech  a racket  wuz  a 


22 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLI)  PLANTATION. 


gwine  on  dat  nobody  ain’t  hear  it,  ’ceppin  may  be  de 
Mud  Turkle  en  de  Spring  Lizzud,  en  dere  enfioons  wuz 
pow’ful  lackin’. 

“ Bimeby,  w’iles  de  Nunicorn  wuz  ’sputin’  wid  de 
Lion,  en  w’ile  de  Hyener  wuz  a laughin’  ter  hisse’f,  de 
Eleplient  squshed  anudder  one  er  de  Crawfishes,  en  a 
little  mo’n  he’d  er  ruint  de  Mud  Turkle.  Den  de  Craw- 
fishes, w’at  dey  wuz  lef’  un  um,  swarmed  tergedder  en 
draw’d  up  anudder  peramble  wid  sum  mo’  wharfo’es ; 
but  dey  might  ez  well  er  sung  Ole  Dan  Tucker  ter  a 
harrycane.  De  udder  creeturs  wuz  too  busy  wid  der 
fussin’  fer  ter  ’spon’  unto  de  Crawfishes.  So  dar  dey 
wuz,  de  Crawfishes,  en  dey  didn’t  know  w’at  minnit 
wuz  gwineter  be  de  nex’ ; en  dey  kep’  on  gittin  madder 
en  madder  en  skeerder  en  skeerder,  twel  bimeby  dey 
gun  de  wink  ter  de  Mud  Turkle  en  de  Spring  Lizzud, 
en  den  dey  bo’d  little  holes  in  de  groun’  en  went  down 
outer  sight.” 

“ Who  did,  Uncle  Kemus  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy. 

“ De  Crawfishes,  honey.  Dey  bo’d  inter  de  groun’ 
en  kep’  on  bo’in  twel  dey  onloost  de  fountains  er  de 
earf ; en  de  waters  squirt  out,  en  riz  higher  en  higher 
twel  de  hills  wuz  kivvered,  en  de  creeturs  wuz  all 
drownded ; en  all  bekaze  dey  let  on  ’mong  deyselves 
dat  dey  wuz  bigger  dan  de  Crawfishes.” 

Then  the  old  man  blew  the  ashes  from  a smoking 
yam,  and  proceeded  to  remove  the  peeling. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  DELUGE. 


23 


“ Where  was  the  ark,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” the  little  bov 
inquired,  presently. 


“ W’ich  ark’s  dat  ? ” asked  the  old  man,  in  a tone  of 
well-feigned  curiosity. 

“ Noah’s  ark,”  replied  the  child. 

“Don’t  you  pester  wid  ole  man  Noah,  honey.  I 
boun’  he  tuck  keer  er  dat  ark.  Dat’s  w’at  he  wuz  dar 
fer,  en  dat’s  w’at  he  done.  Leas’ways,  dat’s  w’at  dey 
tells  me.  But  don’t  you  bodder  longer  dat  ark,  ’ceppin’ 
your  mammy  fetches  it  up.  Dey  mout  er  bin  two 
deloojes,  en  den  agin  dey  moutent.  Ef  dey  wuz  enny 
ark  in  dish  yer  w’at  de  Crawfishes  brung  on,  I ain’t 
heern  tell  un  it,  en  w’en  dey  ain’t  no  arks  ’roun’,  I ain’t 
got  no  time  fer  ter  make  um  en  put  um  in  dar.  Hit’s 
gittin’  yo’  bedtime,  honey.” 


LEGENDS  OE  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


VI. 


MR.  RABBIT  GROSSLY  DECEIVES  MR.  FOX. 

One  evening  when  the  little  boy,  whose  nights  with 
Uncle  Remus  were  as  entertaining  as  those  Arabian 
ones  of  blessed  memory,  had  finished  supper  and  hur- 
ried out  to  sit  with  his  venerable  patron,  he  found  the 
old  man  in  great  glee.  Indeed,  Uncle  Hem  us  was  talk- 
ing and  laughing  to  himself  at  such  a rate  that  the  little 
boy  was  afraid  he  had  company.  The  truth  is,  Uncle 
Remus  had  heard  the  child  coming,  and,  when  the  rosy- 
cheeked  chap  put  his  head  in  at  the  door,  was  engaged 
in  a monologue,  the  burden  of  which  seemed  to  be — 

“ Ole  Molly  Har\ 

W’at  you  doin’  dar, 

Settin’  in  de  cornder 
Smokin’  yo’  seegyaH” 

As  a matter  of  course  this  vague  allusion  reminded 
the  little  boy  of  the  fact  that  the  wicked  Fox  was  still 
in  pursuit  of  the  Rabbit,  and  he  immediately  put  his 
curiosity  in  the  shape  of  a question. 

“ Uncle  Remus,  did  the  Rabbit  have  to  go  clean 
away  when  he  got  loose  from  the  Tar-Baby  ? ” 

“ Bless  gracious,  honey,  dat  he  didn’t.  Who  ? 
Him?  You  dunno  nuthin’  ’tall  ’bout  Brer  Rabbit  ef 
dat’s  de  way  you  puttin’  ’im  down.  W’at  he  gwine 
’way  fer  ? He  moughter  stayed  sorter  close  twel  de 


MR.  RABBIT  GROSSLY  DECEIVES  MR.  FOX.  25 


pitch  rub  off’n  his  lia’r,  but  twern’t  menny  days  ’fo’  he 
wuz  lopin’  up  en  down  de  neighborhood  same  ez  ever, 
en  I dunno  ef  he  wern’t  mo’  sassier  dan  befo’. 

“Seem  like  dat  de  tale  ’bout  how  he  got  mixt 
up  wid  de  Tar-Baby  got  ’roun’  ’mongst  de  nabers. 
Leas’ways,  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  got  win’  un’  it,  en 
de  nex’  time  Brer  Babbit  paid  um  a visit  Miss  Meadows 
tackled  ’im  ’bout  it,  en  de  gals  sot  up  a monstus  giggle- 
ment.  Brer  Babbit,  he  sot  up  des  ez  cool  ez  a cow- 
cumber,  he  did,  en  let  ’em  run  on.” 

“Who  was  Miss  Meadows,  Uncle  Bemus?”  in- 
quired the  little  boy. 

“ Don’t  ax  me,  honey.  She  wuz  in  de  tale,  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  wuz,  en  de  tale  I give  you  like  hi’t 
wer’  gun  ter  me.  Brer  Babbit,  he  sot  dar,  he  did, 
sorter  lam’  like,  en  den  bimeby  he  cross  his  legs,  he 
did,  and  wink  his  eye  slow,  en  up  and  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Ladies,  Brer  Fox  wuz  my  daddy’s  ridin’-hoss  fer 
thirty  year ; maybe  mo’,  but  thirty  year  dat  I knows 
un,’  sezee ; en  den  he  paid  um  his  ’specks,  en  tip  his 
beaver,  en  march  off,  he  did,  des  ez  stiff  en  ez  stuck  up 
ez  a fire-stick. 

“ Kex’  day,  Brer  Fox  cum  a callin’,  and  w’en  he 
gun  fer  ter  laugh  ’bout  Brer  Babbit,  Miss  Meadows  en 
de  gals,  dey  ups  en  tells  ’im  ’bout  w’at  Brer  Babbit  say. 
Den  Brer  Fox  grit  his  tushes  sho’  nuff,  he  did,  en  he 
look  mighty  dumpy,  but  w’en  he  riz  fer  ter  go  he  up 
en  say,  sezee : 


26 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


44  4 Ladies,  I ain’t  ’sputin’  w’at  you  say,  but  I’ll 
make  Brer  Babbit  chaw  up  his  words  en  spit  um  out 
right  yer  whar  you  kin  see  ’im,’  sezee,  en  wid 
dat  off  Brer  Fox  put. 

“ En  w’en  he  got  in  de  big  road, 
he  shuck  de  dew  off’n  his  tail,  en 
made  a straight  shoot  fer 
Brer  Babbit’s  house.  W’en 
he  got  dar,  Brer  Babbit 
wuz  spectin’  un  ’im,  en  de 
do’  wuz  shet  fas’.  Brer 
Fox  knock.  Nobody  ain't 
ans’er.  Brer  Fox  knock. 
Nobody  ans’er.  Den 
he  knock  agin — blam  1 
blam  ! Den  Brer  Bab- 
bit holler  out  mighty 
weak : 

44  4 Is  dat  you,  Brer 
Fox  ? I want 
you  ter  run  en 


fetch  de  doctor. 
Dat  bait  er  pusly 
w’at  I e’t  dis 
mawnin’  is  ffittin’ 


’way  wid  me.  Do,  please,  Brer  Fox,  run  quick,’  sez 
Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

44  4 1 come  atter  you,  Brer  Babbit,’  sez  Brer  F ox, 


MR.  RABBIT  GROSSLY  DECEIVES  MR.  FOX.  27 


sezee.  ‘ Dar’s  gwineter  be  a party  up  at  Miss  Mead- 
ows’s,’ sezee.  ‘ All  de  gals  ’ll  be  dere,  en  I promus’  dat 
I’d  fetch  you.  De  gals,  dey  ’lowed  dat  hit  wouldn’t  be 
no  party  ’ceppin’  I fotch  you,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit  say  he  wuz  too  sick,  en  Brer 
Fox  say  he  wuzzent,  en  dar  dey  had  it  up  and  down, 
’sputin’  en  contendin’.  Brer  Babbit  say  he  can’t  walk. 
Brer  Fox  say  he  tote  ’im.  Brer  Babbit  say  how? 
Brer  Fox  say  in  his  arms.  Brer  Babbit  say  he  drap 
’im.  Brer  Fox  ’low  he  won’t.  Bimeby  Brer  Babbit 
say  he  go  ef  Brer  Fox  tote  ’im  on  his  back.  Brer  Fox 
say  he  would.  Brer  Babbit  say  he  can’t  ride  widout  a 
saddle.  Brer  Fox  say  he  git  de  saddle.  Brer  Babbit 
say  he  can’t  set  in  saddle  less  he  have  bridle  fer  ter  hoi’ 
by.  Brer  Fox  say  he  git  de  bridle.  Brer  Babbit  say 
he  can’t  ride  widout  bline  bridle,  kaze  Brer  Fox  be 
shyin’  at  stumps  ’long  de  road,  en  fling  ’im  off.  Brer 
Fox  say  he  git  bline  bridle.  Den  Brer  Babbit  say  he 
go.  Den  Brer  Fox  say  he  ride  Brer  Babbit  mos’  up 
ter  Miss  Meadows’s,  en  den  he  could  git  down  en  walk 
de  balance  er  de  way.  Brer  Babbit  ’greed,  en  den 
Brer  Fox  lipt  out  atter  de  saddle  en  de  bridle. 

“ Co’se  Brer  Babbit  know  de  game  dat  Brer  Fox 
wuz  fixin’  fer  ter  play,  en  he  ’termin’  fer  ter  outdo  ’im, 
en  by  de  time  he  koam  his  ha’r  en  twis’  his  mustarsh, 
en  sorter  rig  up,  yer  come  Brer  Fox,  saddle  en  bridle 
on,  en  lookin’  ez  peart  ez  a circus  pony.  He  trot  up 
ter  de  do’  en  stan’  dar  pawin’  de  ground  en  chompin’ 


28 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


de  bit  same  like  sho  ’nuff  hoss,  en  Brer  Babbit  he 
mount,  he  did,  en  dey  amble  off.  Brer  Fox  can’t  see 
beliime  wid  de  bline  bridle  on,  but  bimeby  he  feel  Brer 
Babbit  raise  one  er  his  foots. 

“ ‘ W’at  you  doin’  now,  Brer  Babbit  % ’ sezee. 


“ 1 Short’nin’  de  lef  stir’p,  Brer  Fox,’  sezeeo 
“ Bimeby  Brer  Babbit  raise  up  de  udder  foot. 

“ i W’at  you  doin’  now,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ sezee. 

“ 6 Pullin’  down  my  pants,  Brer  Fox,’  sezee. 

“ All  de  time,  bless  grashus,  honey,  Brer  Babbit 
wer  puttin’  on  his  spurrers,  en  w’en  dey  got  close  to 
Miss  Meadows’s,  whar  Brer  Babbit  wuz  to  git  off,  en 


MR.  RABBIT  GROSSLY  DECEIVES  MR.  FOX.  29 

Brer  Fox  made  a motion  fer  ter  stan’  still,  Brer  Rabbit 
slap  de  spurrers  inter  Brer  Fox  flanks,  en  ypu  better 
b’leeve  he  got  over  groun’.  W’en  dey  got  ter  de  house, 
Miss  Meadows  en  all  de  gals  wuz  settin’  on  de  peazzer, 
;£n  stidder  stoppin’  at  de  gate,  Brer  Rabbit  rid  on  by, 
he  did,  en  den  come  gallopin’  down  de  road  en  up  ter 
de  hoss-rack,  w’ich  he  hitch  Brer  Fox  at,  en  den  he 
santer  inter  de  house,  he  did,  en  shake  han’s  wid  de 
gals,  en  set  dar,  smokin’  his  seegyar  same  ez  a town 
man.  Bimeby  he  draw  in  a long  puff,  en  den  let  hit  out 
in  a cloud,  en  squar  hisse’f  back  en  holler  out,  he  did : 

“‘Ladies,  ain’t  I done  tell  you  Brei’  Fox  wuz  de 
ridin’-hoss  fer  our  fambly?  He  sorter  losin’  his  gait 
now,  but  I speck  I kin  fetch  ’im  all  right  in  a mont’ 
er  so,’  sezee. 

“ En  den  Brer  Rabbit  sorter  grin,  he  did,  en  de  gals 
giggle,  en  Miss  Meadows,  she  praise  up  de  pony,  en 
dar  wuz  Brer  Fox  hitch  fas’  ter  de  rack,  en  couldn’t 
he’p  hisse’f.” 

“ Is  that  all,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” asked  the  little  boy 
as  the  old  man  paused. 

“ Dat  ain’t  all,  honey,  but  ’twon’t  do  fer  ter  give 
out  too  much  cloff  fer  ter  cut  one  pa’r  pants,”  replied 
the  old  man  sententiously. 


30 


LEGENDS  OE  T11E  OLD  PLANTATION. 


VII. 

MR.  FOX  IS  AGAIN  VICTIMIZED. 

When  “Miss  Sally’s”  little  boy  went  to  Uncle 
Remus  the  next  night  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  the 
adventure  in  which  the  Rabbit  made  a riding-horse  of 
the  Fox  to  the  great  enjoyment  and  gratification  of 
Miss  Meadows  and  the  girls,  he  found  the  old  man  in 
a bad  humor. 

“ I ain’t  tellin’  no  tales  ter  bad  cliilluns,”  said  Uncle 
Remus  curtly. 

“ But,  Uncle  Remus,  I ain’t  bad,”  said  the  little 
boy  plaintively. 

“ Who  dat  chunkin’  dem  chickens  dis  mawnin’  ? 
Who  dat  knockin’  out  fokes’s  eyes  wid  dat  Yallerbam- 
mer  sling  des  ’fo’  dinner  ? Who  dat  sickin’  dat  pinter 
puppy  atter  my  pig?  Who  dat  scatterin’  my  ingun 
sets?  Who  dat  hingin’  rocks  on  top  er  my  house, 
w’ich  a little  mo’  en  one  un  em  would  er  drap  spang 
on  my  head  ? ” 

“Well,  now,  Uncle  Remus,  I didn’t  go  to  do  it.  I 
won’t  do  so  any  more.  Please,  Uncle  Remus,  if  you 
will  tell  me,  I’ll  run  to  the  house  and  bring  you  some 
tea-cakes.” 

“ Seein’  urn’s  better’n  hearin’  tell  un  um,”  replied 
the  old  man,  the  severity  of  his  countenance  relaxing 
somewhat ; but  the  little  boy  darted  out,  and  in  a few 


MR.  FOX  IS  AGAIN  VICTIMIZED. 


31 


minutes  came  running  back  with  his  pockets  full  and 
his  hands  full. 

“ I lay  yo’  mammy  ’ll  ’spishun  dat  de  rats’  stum- 
mucks  is  widenin’  in  dis  neighborhood  w’en  she  come 
fer  ter  count  up  ’er  cakes,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  with  a 
chuckle.  “ Deze,”  he  continued,  dividing  the  cakes 
into  two  equal  parts — “ dese  I’ll  tackle  now,  en  dese 
I’ll  lay  by  fer  Sunday. 

“ Lemme  see.  I mos’  dis’member  wliarbouts  Brer 
Fox  en  Brer  Rabbit  wuz.” 

“ The  rabbit  rode  the  fox  to  Miss  Meadows’s,  and 
hitched  him  to  the  horse-rack,”  said  the  little  boy. 

“ W’y  co’se  he  did,”  said  Uncle  Remus.  “ Co’se  he 
did.  Well,  Brer  Rabbit  rid  Brer  Fox  up,  he  did,  en 
tied  ’im  to  de  rack, 
en  den  sot  out  in 
de  peazzer  wid  de 
gals  a smokin’  er 
his  seegyar  wid 
mo’  proudness  dan 
w’at  you  mos’  ever 
see.  Dey  talk,  en 
dey  sing,  en  dey 
play  on  de  pean^ 
ner,  de  gals  did 
twel  bimebj 

come  time  fer  Brer  Rabbit  fer  to  be  gwine,  en  he 
tell  urn  all  good-by,  en  strut  out  to  de  hoss-rack  same’s 


l> 
hit 


32 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


ef  he  wuz  de  king  er  de  patter-rollers,*  en  den  he 
mount  Brer  Fox  en  ride  off. 

“ Brer  Fox  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’  ’tall.  He  des  rack 
off,  he  did,  en  keep  his  mouf  shet,  en  Brer  Rabbit 
know’d  der  wuz  bizness  cookin’  up  fer  him,  en  he 
feel  monstus  skittish.  Brer  Fox  amble  on  twel  he  git 
in  de  long  lane,  outer  sight  er  Miss  Meadows’s  house, 
en  den  he  tu’n  loose,  he  did.  He  rip  en  he  r’ar,  en  he 
cuss,  en  he  swar ; he  snort  en  he  cavort.” 

“ What  was  he  doing  that  for,  Uncle  Remus?”  the 
little  boy  inquired. 

“ He  wuz  tryin’  fer  ter  fling  Brer  Rabbit  off’n  his 
back,  bless  yo’  soul ! But  he  des  might  ez  well  er 
rastle  wid  his  own  shadder.  Every  time  he  hump 
hisse’f  Brer  Rabbit  slap  de  spurrers  in  ’im,  en  dar 
dey  had  it,  up  en  down.  Brer  Fox  fa’rly  to’  up  de 
groun’  he  did,  en  he  jump  so  high  en  he  jump  so 
quick  dat  he  mighty  nigh  snatch  his  own  tail  off. 
Dey  kep’  on  gwine  on  dis  way  twel  bimeby  Brer  Fox 
lay  down  en  roll  over,  he  did,  en  dis  sorter  onsettle 
Brer  Rabbit,  but  by  de  time  Brer  Fox  got  back  on  his 
foofses  agin,  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  gwine  thoo  de  under- 
bresh  mo’  samer  dan  a race-hoss.  Brer  Fox  he  lit  out 

* Patrols.  In  the  country  districts,  order  was  kept  on  the  plan- 
tations at  night  by  the  knowledge  that  they  were  liable  to  be  visited 
at  any  moment  by  the  patrols.  Hence  a song  current  among  the 
negroes,  the  chorus  of  which  was : 

“ Run,  nigger,  run ; patter-roller  ketch  you — 

Run,  nigger,  run ; hit’s  almos’  day.” 


“Run  yer,  Brer  Wolf!  Yo’  cow  gwine  in  de  groun’.” 


MR.  FOX  IS  AGAIN  VICTIMIZED. 


33 


atter  ’im,  he  did,  en  lie  push  Brer  Rabbit  so  close 
dat  it  wuz  ’bout  all  he  could  do  fer  ter  git  in  a 
holler  tree.  Hole  too  little  fer  Brer  Fox  fer 
ter  git  in,  en  he  hatter  lay  down 
en  res’  en  gedder  his  mine  terged- 
der. 

“ While  he  wuz  layin’  dar, 
Mr.  Buzzard  come  iloppin’ 
’long,  en  seein’  Brer  Fox 
stretch  out  on  de  groun’, 
he  lit  en  view  de  pre- 
musses. Den  Mr.  Buz 
zard  sorter  shake  his  wing, 
en  put  his  head  on  one  side, 
en  say  to  hisse’f  like,  sezee : 

“ 4 Brer  Fox  dead,  en  I so  sor- 
ry,’ sezee. 

‘“No  I ain’t  dead,  nudder,’ 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee.  4 1 
got  ole  man 
Rabbit  pent 
up  in  yer,’ 
sezee,  4 en 
m a gwine- 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


34 

ter  git  ’im  dis  time  ef  it  take  twel  Chris’inus,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den,  atter  some  mo’  palaver,  Brer  Fox  make  a 
bargain  dat  Mr.  Buzzard  wuz  ter  watch  de  hole,  en 
keep  Brer  Rabbit  dar  wiles  Brer  Fox  went  atter  his 
axe.  Den  Brer  Fox,  he  lope  off,  he  did,  en  Mr.  Buz- 
zard, he  tuck  up  his  stan’  at  de  hole.  Bimeby,  w’en 
all  git  still,  Brer  Rabbit  sorter  scramble  down  close  ter 
de  hole,  he  did,  en  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Brer  Fox!  Oh!  Brer  Fox!’ 

“Brer  Fox  done  gone,  en  nobody  say  nuthin’. 
Den  Brer  Rabbit  squall  out  like  he  wuz  mad  ; sezee  : 

‘“You  needn’t  talk  less  you  wanter,’  sezee;  ‘I 
knows  youer  dar,  en  I ain’t  keerin’,’  sezee.  4 1 des 
wanter  tell  you  dat  I wish  mighty  bad  Brer  Tukkey 
Buzzard  wuz  here,’  sezee. 

“ Den  Mr.  Buzzard  try  ter  talk  like  Brer  Fox : 

“ 4 W’at  you  want  wid  Mr.  Buzzard  ? ’ sezee. 

“ ‘ Oh,  nuthin’  in  ’tickler,  ’cep’  dere’s  de  fattes’ 
gray  'squir’l  in  yer  dat  ever  I see,’  sezee,  ‘ en  ef  Brer 
Tukkey  Buzzard  wuz  ’roun’  he’d  be  mighty  glad  fer 
ter  git  ’im,’  sezee. 

“ ‘ How  Mr.  Buzzard  gwine  ter  git  ’im  ? ’ sez  de 
Buzzard,  sezee. 

“ ‘Well,  dar’s  a little  hole  roun’  on  de  udder  side  er 
de  tree,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  ‘en  ef  Brer  Tukkey 
Buzzard  wuz  here  so  he  could  take  up  his  stan’  dar,’ 
sezee,  ‘ I’d  drive  dat  squir’l  out,’  sezee. 


MR.  FOX  IS  AGAIN  VICTIMIZED. 


35 


“ 6 Drive  ’im  out,  den,’  sez  Mr.  Buzzard,  sezee,  £ en 
I’ll  see  dat  Brer  Tukkey  Buzzard  gits  ’im,’  sezee. 

u Den  Brer  Rabbit  kick  up  a racket,  like  lie  wer’ 
drivin’  sum  pin’  out,  en  Mr.  Buzzard  he  rush  ’roun’  fer 
ter  ketch  de  squir’l,  en  Brer  Rab-  f 
bit,  he  dash  out,  he  if  Li 


his  head  back,  opened  his  mouth,  dropped  the  cake  in 
with  a sudden  motion,  looked  at  the  little  boy  with  an 
expression  of  astonishment,  and  then  closed  his  eyes, 
and  begun  to  chew,  mumbling  as  an  accompaniment 
the  plaintive  tune  of  “ Don’t  you  Grieve  atter  Me.” 

The  seance  was  over ; but,  before  the  little  boy 
went  into  the  “ big  house,”  Uncle  Remus  laid  his 
rough  hand  tenderly  on  the  child’s  shoulder,  and  re- 
marked, in  a confidential  tone  : 


36 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Honey,  you  mus’  git  up  soon  Chris’mus  mawnin’ 
en  open  de  do’ ; kase  I’m  gwineter  bounce  in  on  Marse 
John  en  Miss  Sally,  en  holler  Chris’mus  gif’  des  like  I 
useter  endurin’  de  farmin’  days  fo’  de  war,  w’en  ole 
Miss  wuz  ’live.  I boun’  dey  don’t  fergit  de  ole  nigger, 
n udder.  W’en  you  hear  me  callin’  de  pigs,  honey,  you 
des  hop  up  en  onfassen  de  do’.  I lay  I’ll  give  Marse 
John  one  er  dese  yer  ’sprize  parties.” 


VIII. 

MR.  FOX  IS  “ OUTDONE ” BY  MR.  BUZZARD. 

“Ef  I don’t  run  inter  no  mistakes,”  remarked 
Uncle  Remus,  as  the  little  boy  came  tripping  in  to  see 
him  after  supper,  “ Mr.  Tukkey  Buzzard  wuz  gyardin’ 
de  holler  whar  Brer  Rabbit  went  in  at,  en  w’ich  he 
come  out  un.” 

The  silence  of  the  little  boy  verified  the  old  man’s 
recollection. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Buzzard,  he  feel  mighty  lonesome,  he 
did,  but  he  done  prommust  Brer  Fox  dat  he’d  stay,  en 
he  ’termin’  fer  ter  sorter  hang  ’roun’  en  jine  in  de 
joke.  En  he  ain’t  hatter  wait  long,  nudder,  kase  bime- 
by  yer  come  Brer  Fox  gallopin’  thoo  de  woods  wid  his 
axe  on  his  shoulder. 

“ ‘ How  you  speck  Brer  Rabbit  gittin’  on,  Brer  Buz- 
zard?’ sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 


MR.  FOX  IS  “OUTDONE”  BY  MR.  BUZZARD.  37 


“ ‘ Oil,  lie  in  dar,’  sez  Brer  Buzzard,  sezee.  ‘ He 
mighty  still,  dough.  I speck  he  takin’  a nap,’  sezee. 

“ 4 Den  I’m  des  in  time  fer  ter  wake  ’im  up,’  sez 
Brer  Fox,  sezee.  En  wid  dat  he  fling  off  his  coat,  en 
spit  in  his  hah’s,  en  grab  de  axe.  Den  he  draw  back 
en  come  down  on  de  tree — pow ! En  eve’y  time  he 
come  down  wid  de  axe — pow ! — Mr.  Buzzard,  he  step 
high,  he  did,  en  holler  out : 


“ ‘ Oh,  he  in  dar,  Brer  Fox.  He 


“ En  eve’y  time  a chip  ud  fly  off,  Mr.  Buzzard,  he’d 
jump,  en  dodge,  en  hole  his  head  sideways,  he  would, 
en  holler : 


38 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ ‘ He  in  dar,  Brer  Fox.  I done  heerd  ’im.  He  in 
dar,  sho.’ 

“En  Brer  Fox,  lie  lammed  away  at  dat  holler  tree, 
he  did,  like  a man  maulin’  rails,  twel  bimeby,  atter  he 
done  got  de  tree  mos’  cut  thoo,  he  stop  fer  ter  ketch  his 
href,  en  he  seed  Mr.  Buzzard  laughin’  behime  his  back, 
he  did,  en  right  den  en  dar,  widout  gwine  enny  fudder, 
Brer  Fox,  he  smelt  a rat.  But  Mr.  Buzzard,  he  keep 
on  holler’n : 

“‘He  in  dar,  Brer  Fox.  He  in  dar,  sho.  I done 
seed  ’im.’ 

“ Den  Brer  Fox,  he  make  like  he  peepin’  up  de 
holler,  en  he  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Run  yer,  Brer  Buzzard,  en  look  ef  dis  ain’t  Brer 
Rabbit’s  foot  hanging  down  yer.’ 

“ En  Mr.  Buzzard,  he  come  steppin’  up,  he  did, 
same  ez  ef  he  wer  treddin’  on  kurkle-burs,  en  he  stick 
his  head  in  de  hole  ; en  no  sooner  did  he  done  dat  dan 
Brer  Fox  grab  ’im.  Mr.  Buzzard  flap  his  wings,  en 
scramble  ’roun’  right  smartually,  he  did,  but  ’twant  no 
use.  Brer  Fox  had  de  ’vantage  er  de  grip,  he  did,  en 
he  hilt  ’im  right  down  ter  de  groun’.  Den  Mr.  Buz- 
zard squall  out,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Lemme  ’lone,  Brer  Fox.  Tu’n  me  loose,’ 
sezee;  ‘Brer  Rabbit’ll  git  out.  Youer  gittin’  close 
at  ’im,’  sezee,  ‘ en  leb’m  mo’  licks’ll  fetch  ’im,’ 
sezee. 

“ ‘ I’m  nigher  ter  you,  Brer  Buzzard,’  sez  Brer  Fox, 


MR.  FOX  IS  “OUTDONE”  BY  MR.  BUZZARD.  39 


sezee,  4 dan  I’ll  be  ter  Brer  Babbit  dis  day,’  sezee. 
4 W’at  you  fool  me  fer  ? ’ sezee. 

44  4 Lemme  ’lone,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Mr.  Buzzard,  sezee ; 
4 my  ole  ’oman  waitin’  fer  me.  Brer  Babbit  in  dar,’ 
sezee. 

44  4 Dar’s  a bunch  er  his  fur  on  dat  black-be’y  bush,’ 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee,  4 en  dat  ain’t  de  way  he  come,’ 
sezee. 

44  Den  Mr.  Buzzard  up’n  tell  Brer  Fox  how  ’twuz, 
en  he  low’d,  Mr.  Buzzard  did,  dat  Brer  Babbit  wuz  de 
lowdownest  w’atsizname  wT’at  he  ever  run  up  wid. 
Den  Brer  Fox  say,  sezee : 

44  4 Dat’s  needer  here  ner  dar,  Brer  Buzzard,’  sezee. 
4 1 lef’  you  yer  fer  ter  watch  dish  yere  hole,  en  I lef’ 
Brer  Babbit  in  dar.  I comes  back  en  I fines  you  at  de 
hole  en  Brer  Babbit  ain’t  in  dar,’  sezee.  4 I’m  gwine- 
ter  make  you  pay  fer’t.  I done  bin  tampered  wfid  twel 
plum’  down  ter  de  sap  sucker’ll  set  on  a log  en  sassy 
me.  I’m  gwinter  fling  you  in  a bresh-heap  en  burn 
you  up,’  sezee. 

44  4 Ef  you  fling  me  on  der  tier,  Brer  Fox,  I’ll  fly 
’way,’  sez  Mr.  Buzzard,  sezee. 

44  4 Well,  den,  I’ll  settle  yo’  hash  right  now,’  sez 
Brer  Fox,  sezee,  en  wid  dat  he  grab  Mr.  Buzzard  by  de 
tail,  he  did,  en  make  fer  ter  dash  ’im  ’gin  de  groun’, 
but  des  ’bout  dat  time  de  tail  fedders  come  out,  en  Mr. 
Buzzard  sail  off  like  one  er  dese  yer  berloons ; en  ez 
he  riz,  he  holler  back  : 


40 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ 4 You  gimme  good  start,  Brer  Fox,’  sezee,  en  Brer 
Fox  sot  dar  en  watch  ’im  fly  outer  sight.” 


“ Don’t  you  pes- 


ter ’longer  Brer  Rabbit,  honey,  en  don’t  you  fret 
’bout  ’im.  You’ll  year  whar  he  went  en  how  he  come 
out.  Dish  yer  cole  snap  rastles  wid  my  bones,  now,” 
continued  the  old  man,  putting  on  his  hat  and  pick- 
ing up  his  walking-stick.  u Hit  rastles  wid  me  mons- 
tus,  en  I gotter  rack  ’roun’  en  see  if  I kin  run  up  agin 
some  Chris’mus  leavin’s.” 


MISS  COW  FALLS  A VICTIM  TO  MR.  RABBIT.  ±1 


IX. 


MISS  COW  FALLS  A VICTIM  TO  MR.  RABBIT. 

“ Uncle  Remus,”  said  the  little  boy,  “ what  became 
of  the  Rabbit  after  he  fooled  the  Buzzard,  and  got  out 
of  the  hollow  tree  ? ” 

“Who?  Brer  Rabbit?  Bless  yo’  soul,  honey,  Brer 
Rabbit  went  skippin’  ’long  home,  he  did,  des  ez  sassy 
ez  a jay-bird  at  a sparrer’s  lies’.  He  went  gallopin’ 
’long,  he  did,  but  he  feel  mighty  tired  out,  en  stiff  in 
his  jints,  en  he  wuz  mighty  nigh  dead  for  sumpin  fer 
ter  drink,  en  bimeby,  w’en  he  got  mos’  home,  he  spied 
ole  Miss  Cow  feedin’  roun’  in  a fiel’,  he  did,  en  he 
’termin’  fer  ter  try  his  han’  wid  ’er.  Brer  Rabbit 
know  mighty  well  dat  Miss  Cow  won’t  give  ’im  no 
milk,  kaze  she  done  ’fuse  ’im  mo’n  once,  en  w’en  his 
ole  ’oman  wuz  sick,  at  dat.  But  never  mind  dat.  Brer 
Rabbit  sorter  dance  up  ’long  side  er  de  fence,  he  did, 
en  holler  out : 

“ 4 Howdy,  Sis  Cow,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

“ i W’y,  howdy,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Miss  Cow,  sez 

she. 

“ 4 How  you  fine  yo’se’f  deze  days,  Sis  Cow  ? ’ sez 
Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

“ ‘ I’m  sorter  toler’ble,  Brer  Rabbit ; how  you  come 
on  ? ’ sez  Miss  Cow,  sez  she. 

“ 4 Oh,  I’m  des  toler’ble  myse’f,  Sis  Cow ; sorter  lin- 
5 


42 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


ger’n’  twix’  a bauk  en  a break-down,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee. 

“ 4 How  yo’  fokes,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ’ sez  Miss  Cow,  sez 

she. 


“ 4 Dey  er  des  middlin’,  Sis  Cow  ; how  Brer  Bull 
gittin’  on  ? ’ sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

“ 4 Sorter  so-so,’  sez  Miss 
Cow,  sez  she. 

Dey  er  some  mighty 


nice  ’simmons  up  dis 
tree,  Sis  Cow,’  sez 
Brer  Rabbit,  sezee, 
4 en  I’d  like  mighty 
well  fer  ter.  have  some 


un  urn,’  sezee. 

44  4 How  you  gwineter  git  um,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ’ sez  she. 
44  4 1 ’low’d  maybe  dat  I might  ax  you  fer  ter  butt 
’gin  de  tree,  en  shake  some  down,  Sis  Cow,’  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee. 


MISS  COW  FALLS  A VICTIM  TO  MR.  RABBIT.  43 


“ C’ose  Miss  Cow  don’t  wanter  diskommerdate 
Brer  Rabbit,  en  she  march  up  ter  de  ’simmon  tree,  she 
did,  en  hit  it  a rap  wid’er  horns — blam  ! Now,  den,” 
continued  Uncle  Remus,  tearing  off  the  corner  of  a 
plug  of  tobacco  and  cramming  it  into  his  mouth — 
“ now,  den,  dem  ’simmons  wuz  green  ez  grass,  en 
na’er  one  never  drap.  Den  Miss  Cow  butt  de  tree 
— blim ! Na’er  ’simmon  drap.  Den  Miss  Cow  sorter 
back  off  little,  en  run  agin  de  tree — blip  ! No  ’sim- 
mons never  drap.  Den  Miss  Cow  back  off  little 
fudder,  she  did,  en  hi’st  her  tail  on  ’er  back,  en  come 
agin  de  tree,  kerblam  ! en  she  come  so  fas’,  en  she 
come  so  hard,  twel  one  ’er  her  horns  went  spang  thoo 
de  tree,  en  dar  she  wuz.  She  can’t  go  forreds,  en 
she  can’t  go  backerds.  Dis  zackly  w’at  Brer  Rabbit 
waitin’  fer,  en  he  no  sooner  seed  ole  Miss  Cow  al] 
fas’en’d  up  dan  he  jump  up,  he  did,  en  cut  de  pidjin. 
wing. 

“ ‘ Come  he’p  me  out,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Miss  Cow, 
sez  she. 

“ 4 1 can’t  clime,  Sis  Cow,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee, 

‘ but  I’ll  run’n  tell  Brer  Bull,’  sezee  ; en  wid  dat  Brer 
Rabbit  put  out  fer  home,  en  ’twan’t  long  ’fo  here  he 
come  wid  his  ole  ’oman  en  all  his  cliilluns,  en  de  las’ 
one  er  de  fambly  wuz  totin’  a pail.  De  big  uns  had 
big  pails,  en  de  little  uns  had  little  pails.  En  dey  all 
s’roundid  ole  Miss  Cow,  dey  did,  en  you  hear  me,  hon- 
ey, dey  milk’t  ’er  dry.  De  ole  uns  milk’t  en  de  young 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


41 

uns  milk’t,  en  den  w’en  dey  done  got  nuff,  Brer  Bab- 
bit, he  up’n  say,  sezee : 

“ 4 1 wish  you  mighty  well,  Sis 
Cow.  I ’low’d  bein’s  how  dat 
hatter  sorter  camp  out  all 
night  dat  I’d  better 
come  en  swaje  yo’ 
bag,’  sezee.” 


“Do  which,  Uncle 
Bern  us  ? ” asked  the  lit- 
tle boy. 

44  Go  ’long,  honey  ! 

Swaje  ’er  bag.  W’en 
cows  don’t  git  milk’t, 
der  bag  swells,  en 
youk’n  hear  um  a 
moanin’  en  a beller’n 
des  like  dey  wuz  gittin’ 
hurtid.  Dat’s  w’at 
Brer  Babbit  done.  He 
’sembled  his  fambly, 
he  did,  en  he  swaje  ole 
Miss  Cow’s  bag. 

“ Miss  Cow,  she  stood  dar,  she  did,  en  she  study  en 
study,  en  strive  fer  ter  break  loose,  but  de  horn  done 


MISS  COW  FALLS  A VICTIM  TO  MR.  RABBIT.  45 


bin  jam  in  de  tree  so  tight  dat  twuz  way  ’fo  day  in  de 
mornin’  ’fo’  she  loose  it.  Anyhow  hit  wuz  endurin’  er 
de  night,  en  atter  she  git  loose  she  sorter  graze  ’roun’, 
she  did,  fer  ter  jestify  ’er  stummuck.  She  ’low’d,  ole 
Miss  Cow  did,  dat  Brer  Rabbit  be  hoppin’  ’long  dat 
way  fer  ter  see  how  she  gittin’  on,  en  she  tuck’n  lay  er 
trap  fer  ’iin  ; en  des  ’bout  sunrise  wat’d  ole  Miss  Cow 
do  but  march  up  ter  de  ’simmon  tree  en  stick  er  horn 
back  in  de  hole  ? But,  bless  yo’  soul,  honey,  w’ile  she 
wuz  croppin’  de  grass,  she  tuck  oue  moufull  too 
menny,  kaze  w’en  she  hitch  on  ter  de  ’simmon  tree 
agin,  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  settin’  in  de  fence  cornder  a 
watchin’  un  ’er.  Den  Brer  Rabbit  he  say  ter  hisse’f  : 

44  4 Heyo,’  sezee,  4 w’at  dis  yer  gwine  on  now  ? Hole 
yo’  hosses,  Sis  Cow,  twel  you  hear  me  cornin’,’  sezee. 

44  En  den  he  crope  off  down  de  fence,  Brer  Rabbit 
did,  en  bimeby  here  he  come — lippity-clippity,  clippity- 
lippity — des  a sailin’  down  de  big  road. 

“ 4 Mornin’,  Sis  Cow,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  4 how 
you  come  on  dis  mornin’  ? ’ sezee. 

44  4 Po’ly,  Brer  Rabbit,  po’ly,’  sez  Miss  Cow,  sez  she. 
4 1 ain’t  had  no  res’  all  night,’  sez  she.  4 1 can’t  pull 
loose,’  sez  she,  4 but  ef  you’ll  come  en  ketch  holt  er  my 
tail,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  she,  4 1 reckin  may  be  I kin  fetch 
my  horn  out,’  sez  she.  Den  Brer  Rabbit,  he  come  up 
little  closer,  but  he  ain’t  gittin’  too  close. 

44  4 1 speck  I’m  nigh  nuff,  Sis  Cow,’  sez  Brer  Rab- 
bit, sezee.  4 I’m  a mighty  puny  man,  en  I might  git 


' 46 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


trompled,’  sezee.  4 You  do  de  pullin’,  Sis  Cow,’  sezee, 
4 en  I’ll  do  de  gruntin’,’  sezee. 

“ Den  Miss  Cow,  she  pull  out  ’er  horn,  she  did,  en 
tuck  atter  Brer  Babbit,  en  down  de  big  road  dey  had 
it,  Brer  Babbit  wid  his  years  laid  back,  en  Miss  Cow 


wid  ’er  head  down  en  ’er  tail  curl.  Brer  Babbit  kep’ 
on  gainin’,  en  bimeby  he  dart  in  a brier-patch,  en  by 
de  time  Miss  Cow  come  ’long  he  had  his  head  stickin’ 
out,  en  his  eyes  look  big  ez  Miss  Sally’s  chany  sassers. 

44  4 Heyo,  Sis  Cow  ! Whar  you  gwine  ? ’ sez  Brer 
Babbit,  sezee. 

44  4 Howdy,  Brer  Big-Eyes,’  sez  Miss  Cow,  sez  she. 
4 Is  you  seed  Brer  Babbit  go  by  ? ’ 

44  4 He  des  dis  minit  pass,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee, 
4 en  he  look  mighty  sick,’  sezee. 

44  En  wid  dat,  Miss  Cow  tuck  down  de  road  like  de 
dogs  wuz  atter  ’er,  en  Brer  Babbit,  he  des  lay  down  dar 
in  de  brier-patch  en  roll  en  laugh  twel  his  sides  hurtid 
’im.  He  bleedzd  ter  laff.  Fox  atter  ’im,  Buzzard  atter 
’im,  en  Cow  atter  ’im,  en  dey  ain’t  kotch  ’im  yit,” 


MR.  TERRAPIN  APPEARS  UPON  TEE  SCENE.  47  , 


X. 


MR.  TERRAPIN  APPEARS  UPON  THE  SCENE. 

“ Miss  Sally’s  ” little  boy  again  occupying  the  anx- 
ious position  of  auditor,  Uncle  Remus  took  the  shovel 
and  “ put  de  noses  er  de  chunks  tergedder,”  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  and  then  began  : 

“ One  day,  atter  Sis  Cow  done  run  pas’  ’er  own 
shadder  tryin’  fer  ter  ketch  ’im,  Brer  Rabbit  tuck’n 


’low  dat  he  wuz  gwineter  drap  in  en  see  Miss  Meadows 
en  de  gals,  en  he  got  out  his  piece  er  lookin’-glass  en 


48 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


primp  up,  lie  did,  en  sot  out.  Gwine  canterin’  ’long 
de  road,  who  should  Brer  Babbit  run  up  wid  but  ole 
Brer  Tarrypin — de  same  ole  one-en-sixpunce.  Brer 
Babbit  stop,  be  did,  en  rap  on  de  roof  er  Brer  Tarry- 
pin  bouse.” 

“ On  the  roof  of  bis  bouse,  Uncle  Bemus  ? ” inter- 
rupted the  little  boy. 

“ Co’se  honey,  Brer  Tarrypin  bare  his  bouse  wid 
’im.  Bain  er  shine,  hot  er  cole,  strike  up  wid  ole  Brer 
Tarrypin  w’en  you  will  en  w’ilst  you  may,  en  wbar  you 
fine  ’im,  dar  you’ll  fine  bis  shanty.  Hit’s  des  like  I tell 
you.  So  den ! Brer  Babbit  be  rap  on  de  roof  er  Brer 
Tarrypin’s  bouse,  be  did,  en  ax  wuz  he  in,  en  Brer 
Tarrypin  ’low  dat  be  wuz,  en  den  Brer  Babbit,  he  ax 
’im  howdy,  en  den  Brer  Tarrypin  be  likewise  ’spon’ 
howdy,  en  den  Brer  Babbit  be  say  whar  wuz  Brer 
Tarrypin  gwine,  en  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  say  w’icli  be 
wern’t  gwine  nowhar  skasely.  Den  Brer  Babbit  ’low 
be  wuz  on  bis  way  fer  ter  see  Miss  Meadows  en  de 
gals,  en  be  ax  Brer  Tarrypin  ef  he  won’t  jine  in  en  go 
long,  en  Brer  Tarrypin  ’spon’  be  don’t  keer  ef  he  do, 
en  den  dey  sot  out.  Dey  had  plenty  er  time  fer  con- 
fabbin’  ’long  de  way,  but  bimeby  dey  got  dar,  en  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  dey  come  ter  de  do’,  dey  did,  en 
ax  um  in,  en  in  dey  went. 

“ W’en  dey  got  in,  Brer  Tarrypin  wTuz  so  flat-footed 
dat  be  wuz  too  low  on  de  flo’,  en  he  wern’t  high  nufl 
in  a cheer,  but  while  dey  wuz  all  scramblin’  ’roun’ 


MR.  TERRAPIN  APPEARS  UPON  THE  SCENE.  49 


tryin’  fer  ter  git  Brer  Tarry  pin  a cheer,  Brer  Babbit, 
he  pick  ’im  up  en  put  ’im  on  de  shelf  whar  de  water- 
bucket  sot,  en  ole  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  lay  back  up  dar, 
he  did,  des  es  proud  ez  a nigger  wid  a cook  ’possum. 

“ Co’se  de  talk  fell  on  Brer  Fox,  en  Miss  Meadows 
en  de  gals  make  a great  ’miration  ’bout  w’at  a gaily 
ridin’-hoss  Brer  Fox  wuz,  en  dey  make  lots  er  fun,  en 
laugh  en  giggle  same  like  gals  duz  deze  days.  Brer 
Babbit,  he  sot  dar  in  de  cheer  smokin’  his  seegyar,  en 
he  sorter  kler  up  his  th’oat,  en  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ I’d  er  rid  ’im  over  dis  mawnin’,  ladies,’  sezee, 
‘but  I rid  ’im  so  hard  yistiddy  dat  he  went  lame  in 
de  off  fo’  leg,  en  I speck  I’ll  hatter  swop  ’im  off  yit,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  up’n  say,  sezee : 

“‘Well,  ef  you  gwineter  sell  ’im,  Brer  Babbit,’ 
sezee,  ‘ sell  him  some’rs  outen  dis  naberhood,  kase  he 
done  bin  yer  too  long  now,’  sezee.  ‘ Bo  longer’n  day 
’fo’  yistiddy,’  sezee,  ‘ Brer  Fox  pass  me  on  de  road,  en 
whatter  you  reckin  he  say  ? ’ sezee  : 

“ ‘ Law,  Brer  Tarrypin,’  sez  Miss  Meadows,  sez  she, 
‘ you  don’t  mean  ter  say  he  cust?’  sez  she,  en  den  de 
gals  hilt  der  fans  up  ’fo’  der  faces. 

“ ‘ Oh,  no,  ma’m,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin,  sezee,  ‘ he 
didn’t  cust,  but  he  holler  out — “ Heyo,  Stinkin’  Jim ! ” ’ 
sezee. 

“‘Oh,  my!  You  hear  dat,  gals?’  sez  Miss  Mead- 
ows, sez  she;  ‘Brer  Fox  call  Brer  Tarrypin  Stinkin’ 


50 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


Jim/  sez  she,  en  den  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  make 
great  wonderment  how  Brer  Fox  kin  talk  dat  a way 
’bout  nice  man  like  Brer  Tarrypin. 

“ But  bless  grashus,  honey  ! w’ilst  all  dis  gwine  on, 
Brer  Fox  wuz  stannin’  at  de  back  do’  wid  one  year  at 
de  cat-hole  lissenin’.  Eave-drappers  don’t  hear  no  good 
er  deyse’f,  en  de  way  Brer  Fox  wruz  ’bused  dat  day  wuz 
a caution. 

“ Bimeby  Brer  Fox  stick  his  head  in  de  do’,  en 
holler  out : 

“ 6 Good  evenin’,  fokes,  I wish  you  mighty  well,’ 
sezee,  en  wid  dat  he  make  a dash  for  Brer  Rabbit,  but 
Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  dey  holler  en  squall,  dey  did, 


en  Brer  Tarrypin  he  got  ter  scramblin’  roun’  up  dar 
on  de  shelf,  en  off  he  come,  en  blip  he  tuck  Brer  Fox 


MR.  TERRAPIN  APPEARS  UPON  THE  SCENE.  51 

on  de  back  er  de  head.  Dis  sorter  stunted  Brer  Fox, 
en  w’en  lie  gedder  his  ’membunce  de  mos’  he  seed  wuz 
a pot  er  greens  turnt  over  in  de  fireplace,  en  a broke 
cheer.  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  gone,  en  Brer  Tarrypin  wuz 
gone,  en  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  wuz  gone.” 

“ Where  did  the  Rabbit  go,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” the 
little  boy  asked,  after  a pause. 

“ Bless  yo’  soul,  honey ! Brer  Rabbit  he  skint  up 
de  cliimbly — dats  w’at  turnt  de  pot  er  greens  over. 
Brer  Tarrypin,  he  crope  under  de  bed,  he  did,  en  got 
behime  de  cloze-chist,  en  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals,  dey 
run  out  in  de  yard. 

“ Brer  Fox,  he  sorter  look  roun’  en  feel  er  de  back 
er  his  head,  whar  Brer  Tarrypin  lit,  but  he  don’t  see 
no  sine  er  Brer  Rabbit.  But  de  smoke  en  de  ashes 
gwine  up  de  chimbly  got  de  best  er  Brer  Rabbit,  en 
bimeby  he  sneeze — huckychow  ! 

“ ‘ Aha  ! ’ sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee  ; ‘ youer  dar,  is  you  ? ’ 
sezee.  ‘ Well,  I’m  gwineter  smoke  you  out,  ef  it  takes 
a mont’.  Youer  mine  dis  time,’  sezee.  Brer  Rabbit 
ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’. 

Ain’t  you  cornin’  down?’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 
Brer  Rabbit  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’.  Den  Brer  Fox,  he 
went  out  atter  some  wood,  he  did,  en  w’en  he  come 
back  he  hear  Brer  Rabbit  laughin’. 

“ 1 W’at  you  laughin’  at,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ’ sez  Brer 
Fox,  sezee. 

“ ‘ Can’t  tell  you,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 


52 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


44  4 Better  tell,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

44  4 ’Tain’t  nuthin’  but  a box  er  money  somebody 
done  gone  en  lef’  up  yer  in  de  chink  er  de  chimbly,’ 
sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

44  4 Don’t  b’leeve  you,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

44  4 Look  up  en  see,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  en  w’en 
Brer  Fox  look  up,  Brer  Rabbit  spit  his  eyes  full  er 


terbarker  joose,  he  did,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  make  a break 
fer  de  branch,  en  Brer  Rabbitt  he  come  down  en  tole 
de  ladies  good-by. 

44  4 How  you  git  ’im  off,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ’ sez  Miss 
Meadows,  sez  she. 


MR.  WOLF  MAKES  A FAILURE. 


53 


“ ‘ Who  ? me?’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee  ; ‘ w’y  I des 
tuck  en  tole  ’im  dat  ef  he  didn’t  go  ’long  home  en  stop 
playin’  his  pranks  on  spectubble  fokes,  dat  I’d  take  ’im 
out  and  th’ash  ’im,’  sezee.” 

“ And  what  became  of  the  Terrapin  ? ” asked  the 
little  boy. 

“ Oh,  well  den  ! ” exclaimed  the  old  man,  “ chilluns 
can’t  speck  ter  know  all  ’bout  everything  ’fo’  dey  git 
some  res’.  Dem  eyeleds  er  yone  wanter  be  propped 
wid  straws  dis  minnit.” 


XI. 

MR.  WOLF  MAKES  A FAILURE. 

* 4 

“ I lay  yo’  ma  got  comp’ny,”  said  Uncle  Bemus,  as 
the  little  boy  entered  the  old  man’s  door  with  a huge 
piece  of  mince-pie  in  his  hand,  “en  ef  she  ain’t  got 
comp’ny,  den  she  done  gone  en  drap  de  cubberd  key 
som’ers  whar  you  done  run  up  wid  it.” 

“ Well,  I saw  the  pie  lying  there,  Uncle  Bemus, 
and  I just  thought  I’d  fetch  it  out  to  you.” 

“ Tooby  sho,  honey,”  replied  the  old  man,  regard- 
ing the  child  with  admiration.  “ Tooby  sho,  honey ; 
dat  changes  marters.  Chrismus  doin’s  is  outer  date,  en 
dey  ain’t  got  no  bizness  layin’  roun’  loose.  Dish  yer 
pie,”  Uncle  Bemus  continued,  holding  it  up  and  meas- 
uring it  with  an  experienced  eye,  “ will  gimme-  strenk 


54 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


fer  ter  persoo  on  atter  Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Rabbit  en  de 
udder  creeturs  w’at  dey  roped  in  ’long  wid  um.” 

Here  the  old  man  paused,  and  proceeded  to  demol- 
ish the  pie — a feat  accomplished  in  a very  short  time. 
Then  he  wiped  the  crumbs  from  his  beard  and  began : 

“ Brer  Fox  feel  so  bad,  en  he  git  so  mad  ’bout  Brer 
Rabbit,  dat  he  dunner  w’at  ter  do,  en  he  look  mighty 
down-hearted.  Bimeby,  one  day  wiles  he  wuz  gwine 
’long  de  road,  old  Brer  Wolf  come  up  wid  ’im.  W’en 
dey  done  howdy  in’  en  axin’  atter  one  nudder’s  fambly 
connexshun,  Brer  Wolf,  he  ’low,  he  did,  dat  der  wuz 
sump’n  wrong  wid  Brer  Fox,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  ’low’d 
der  wern’t,  en  he  went  on  en  laugh  en  make  great  ter- 
do  kaze  Brer  Wolf  look  like  he  spishun  sump’n.  But 
Brer  Wolf,  he  got  mighty  long  head,  en  he  sorter 
broach  ’bout  Brer  Rabbit’s  kyar’ns  on,  kaze  de  way  dat 
Brer  Rabbit  ’ceive  Brer  Fox  done  got  ter  be  de  talk  er 
de  naberhood.  Den  Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Wolf  dey 
sorter  palavered  on,  dey  did,  twel  bimeby  Brer  Wolf 
he  up’n  say  dat  he  done  got  plan  fix  fer  ter  trap  Brer 
Rabbit.  Den  Brer  Fox  say  how.  Den  Brer  Wolf 
up’n  tell  ’im  dat  de  way  fer  ter  git  de  drap  on  Brer 
Rabbit  wuz  ter  git  ’im  in  Brer  Fox  house.  Brer  Fox 
dun  know  Brer  Rabbit  uv  ole,  en  he  know  dat  sorter 
game  done  wo’  ter  a frazzle,  but  Brer  Wolf,  he  talk 
mighty  ’swadin’. 

“ 4 How  you  gwine  git  ’im  dar?’  sez  Brer  Fox, 


sezee. 


MR.  WOLF  MAKES  A FAILURE. 


55 


“ ‘ Fool  ’im  dar,’  sez  Brer  Wolf,  sezee. 

“ 4 Who  gwine  do  de  foolin’  ?’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 


44 4 I’ll  do  de  foolin’,’  sez  Brer  Wolf,  sezee,  4 ef 
you’ll  do  de  gamin’,’  sezee. 

44  4 How  you  gwine  do  it  ? ’ sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

44  4 You  run  ’long  home,  en  git  on  de  bed,  en  make 
like  you  dead,  en  don’t  you  say  nothin’  twel  Brer  Bab- 
bit come  en  put  his  ban’s  onter  you,’  sez  Brer  Wolf, 
sezee,  4 en  ef  we  don’t  git  ’im  fer  supper,  Joe’s  dead  en 
Sal’s  a widder,’  sezee. 


56 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


44  Dis  look  like  mighty  nice  game,  en  Brer  Fox 
’greed.  So  den  he  amble  off  home,  en  Brer  Wolf,  he 
march  off  ter  Brer  Rabbit  house.  W’en  he  got  dar, 
hit  look  like  nobody  at  home,  but  Brer  Wolf  he  walk 
up  en  knock  on  de  do’ — blam  ! blam  ! Nobody  come 
Den  he  lam  aloose  en  knock  ’gin — bliin  ! blim  ! 

44  4 Who  dar  ? ’ sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

“ 4 Fr’en’,’  sez  Brer  Wolf. 

“ ‘ Too  menny  fr’en’s  spiles  de  dinner,’  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee  ; 4 w’ich  un’s  dis  ? ’ sezee. 

44  4 I fetch  bad  news,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez  Brer  W olf, 
sezee. 

44  4 Bad  news  is  soon  tole,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

44  By  dis  time  Brer  Rabbit  done  come  ter  de  do’, 
wid  his  head  tied  up  in  a red  hankcher. 

44  4 Brer  Fox  died  dis  mornin’,’  sez  Brer  Wolf, 
sezee. 

44  4 Whar  yo’  mo’nin’  gown,  Brer  Wolf?’  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee. 

44  4 Gwine  atter  it  now,’  sez  Brer  Wolf,  sezee.  4 1 
des  call  by  fer  ter  bring  de  news.  I went  down  ter 
Brer  Fox  house  little  bit  ’go,  en  dar  I foun’  ’im  stiff,’ 
sezee. 

44  Den  Brer  Wolf  lope  off.  Brer  Rabbit  sot  down 
en  scratch  his  head,  he  did,  en  bimeby  he  say  ter  hisse’f 
dat  he  b’leeve  he  sorter  drap  ’roun’  by  Brer  Fox  house 
fer  ter  see  how  de  lan’  lay.  No  sooner  said’n  done. 
Up  he  jump,  en  out  he  went.  W’en  Brer  Rabbit  got 


MR.  WOLF  MAKES  A FAILURE. 


57 


close  ter  Brer  Fox  house,  all  look  lonesome.  Den  lie 
went  up  nigher.  Nobody  stirrin’.  Den  he  look  in, 
en  dar  lay  Brer  Fox  stretch  out  on  de  bed  des  ez  big 


ez  life.  Den  Brer  Rabbit  make  like  he  talkin’  to 
hisse’f. 

“ 4 Nobody  ’roun’  fer  ter  look  atter  Brer  Fox — not 
even  Brer  Tukkey  Buzzard  ain’t  come  ter  de  funer’l,’ 
sezee.  ‘ I hope  Brer  Fox  ain’t  dead,  but  I speck  he  is,’ 
sezee.  6 Even  down  ter  Brer  Wolf  done  gone  en  lef’ 
’im.  Kit’s  de  busy  season  wid  me,  but  I’ll  set  up  wid 
’im.  He  seem  like  he  dead,  yit  he  mayn’t  be,’  sez 
Brer  Rabbit,  sezee.  ‘ W’en  a man  go.  ter  see  dead 
fokes,  dead  fokes  allers  raises  up  der  behime  leg  en 
hollers,  wahoo  ! ’ sezee. 


58 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Brer  Fox  lie  stay  still.  Den  Brer  Babbit  lie  talk 
little  louder : 

“ 4 Mighty  funny.  Brer  Fox  look  like  lie  dead,  yit 
he  don’t  do  like  he  dead.  Dead  fokes  lusts  der  behime 
leg  en  hollers  wahoo ! w’en  a man  come  ter  see  urn,’ 
sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

“ Sho’  nuff,  Brer  Fox  lif’  up  his  foot  en  holler 
wahoo ! en  Brer  Babbit  he  tear  out  de  house  like  de 
dogs  wuz  atter  ’im.  Brer  Wolf  mighty  smart,  but 
nex’  time  you  hear  fum  ’im,  honey,  he’ll  be  in  trouble. 
You  des  hole  yo’  bretf’n  wait.” 


XII. 

MR.  FOX  TACKLES  OLD  MAN  TARRYPIN. 

“ One  day,”  said  Uncle  Bemus,  sharpening  his  knife 
on  the  palm  of  his  hand — “ one  day  Brer  Fox  strike  up 
wid  Brer  Tarrypin  right  in  de  middle  er  de  big  road. 
Brer  Tarrypin  done  heerd  ’im  cornin’,  en  he  ’low  ter 
hissef  dat  he’d  sorter  keep  one  eye  open ; but  Brer  Fox 
wuz  monstus  perlite,  en  he  open  up  de  confab,  he  did, 
like  he  ain’t  see  Brer  Tarrypin  sence  de  las’  freshit. 

“ ‘ Heyo,  Brer  Tarrypin,  whar  you  bin  dis  long- 
come-short?’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ ‘ Lounjun  ’roun’,  Brer  Fox,  lounjun  ’roun’,’  sez 
Brer  Tarrypin. 


MR.  FOX  TACKLES  OLD  MAN  TARRYPIN.  59 


“ ‘You  don’t  look  sprucy  like  you  did,  Brer  Tarry- 
pin,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ 4 Lounjun  ’roun’  en  suffer’n’,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin, 
sezee. 

44  Den  de  talk  sorter  run  01  like  dis  : 

44  4 W’at  ail  you,  Brer  T irrypin?  Yo’  eye  look 
mighty  red,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  ses  3e. 

44  4 Lor’,  Brer  Fox,  you  dun.ier  w’at  trubble  is.  You 
ain’t  bin  lounjun  ’roun’  en  suff  sr’n’,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin, 
sezee. 

44 4 Bofe  eyes  red,  en  you  look  like  you  mighty 
weak,  Brer  Tarrypin,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 


44  4 Lor’,  Brer  Fox,  you  dunner  w’at  trubble  is,’  sez 
Brer  Tarrypin,  sezee. 

“ 4 W’at  ail  you  now,  Brer  Tarrypin  ? ’ sez  Brer 
Fox,  sezee. 


60 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“‘Tuck  a walk  de  udder  day,  en  man  come  ’long 
en  sot  de  fiel’  a-fier.  Lor’,  Brer  Fox,  you  durmer  w’at 
trubble  is,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin,  sezee. 

44  4 IIow  you  git  out  de  fier,  Brer  Tarrypin  ? ’ sez 
Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“‘Sot  en  tuck  it,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin, 
sezee.  4 Sot  en  tuck  it,  en  de  smoke  sif ’ in  my  eye,  en 
de  tier  scorch  my  back,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin,  sezee. 

“ 4 Likewise  hit  bu’i  yo’  tail  off,’  sez  Brer  Fox, 
sezee. 

“ 4 Oh,  no,  dar’s  de  tail,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Tarry- 
pin, sezee,  en  wid  dat  he  oncurl  his  tail  fum  under  de 
shell,  en  no  sooner  did  he  do  dat  dan  Brer  Fox  grab  it, 
en  holler  out : 

44  4 Oh,  yes,  Brer  Tarrypin  ! Oh,  yes ! En  so  youer 
de  man  w’at  lam  me  on  de  head  at  Miss  Meadows’s  is 
you?  Youer  in  wid  Brer  Babbit,  is  you?  Well,  I’m 
gwineter  out  you.’ 

44  Brer  Tarrypin  beg  en  beg,  but  ’twan’t  no  use. 
Brer  Fox  done  been  fool  so  much  dat  he  look  like  he 
’termin’  fer  ter  have  Brer  Tarrypin  haslett.  Den  Brer 
Tarrypin  beg  Brer  Fox  not  fer  ter  drown  ’im,  but  Brer 
Fox  ain’t  makin’  no  prommus,  en  den  he  beg  Brer  Fox 
fer  ter  bu’n’  ’im,  kase  he  done  useter  fier,  but  Brer  Fox 
don’t  say  nutliin’.  Bin.eby  Brer  Fox  drag  Brer  Tarry- 
pin off  little  ways  b’low  de  spring-’ouse,  en  souze  ’im 
under  de  water.  Den  Brer  Tarrypin  begin  fer  ter 
holler : 


MR.  FOX  TACKLES  OLD  MAN  TARRYPIN. 

Tu’n  loose  dat  stump  root  en  ketch  holt  er  me- 
tu’n  loose  dat  stump  root  en  ketch  holt  er  me.’ 

“ Brer  Fox  he  holler  back  : 


“ ‘ I ain’t  got  holt  er  no  stump  root,  en  I is  got  holt 


er  you. 


62 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


44  Brer  Tarrypin  lie  keep  on  holler’n  : 

44  4 Ketch  liolt  er  me — I’m  a drownin’ — I’m  a 
drownin’ — tu’n  loose  de  stump  root  en  ketch  holt  er 
me.’ 

44  Sho  nuff,  Brer  Fox  tu’n  loose  de  tail,  en  Brer 
Tarrypin,  he  went  down  ter  de  bottom — kerblunkity- 
blink ! ” 

Ho  typographical  combination  or  description  could 
do  justice  to  the  guttural  sonorousness — the  peculiar 
intonation — which  Uncle  Remus  imparted  to  this  com- 
bination. It  was  so  peculiar,  indeed,  that  the  little  boy 
asked : 

44  How  did  he  go  to  the  bottom,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

44  Kerblunkity-blink ! ” 

44  Was  he  drowned,  Uncle  Remus?” 

44  Who  ? Ole  man  Tarrypin  ? Is  you  drowndid 
w’en  yo’  ma  tucks  you  in  de  bed  ? ” 

44  Well,  no,”  replied  the  little  boy,  dubiously. 

44  Ole  man  Tarrypin  wuz  at  home  I tell  you,  honey. 
Kerblinkity-blunk  ! ” 


XIII. 

THE  AWFUL  FATE  OF  MR.  WOLF. 

Uncle  Remus  was  half-soling  one  of  his  shoes,  and 
his  Miss  Sally’s  little  boy  had  been  handling  his  awls, 
his  hammers,  and  his  knives  to  such  an  extent  that  the 


THE  AWFUL  FATE  OF  MR.  WOLF. 


63 


old  man  was  compelled  to  assume  a threatening  atti- 
tude ; but  peace  reigned  again,  and  the  little  boy 
perched  himself  on  a chair,  watching  Uncle  Remus 
driving  in  pegs. 

“ Folks  w’at’s  allers  pesterin’  people,  en  bodderin’ 
’longer  dat  w’at  ain’t  dern,  don’t  never  come  ter  no 
good  eend.  Dar  wuz  Brer  Wolf ; stidder  mindin’  un 
his  own  bizness,  he  hatter  take  en  go  in  pardnerships 
wid  Brer  Fox,  en  dey  want  skacely  a minnit  in  de  day 
dat  he  want  atter  Brer  Rabbit,  en  he  kep’  on  en  kep’  ‘ 
on  twel  fus’  news  you  knowed  he  got  kotch  up  wid — 
en  he  got  kotch  up  wid  monstus  bad.” 

“ Goodness,  Uncle  Remus!  I thought  the  Wolf  let 
the  Rabbit  alone,  after  he  tried  to  fool  him  about  the 
Fox  being  dead.” 

“ Better  lemme  tell  dish  yer  my  way.  Bimeby 
hit’ll  be  yo’  bed  time,  en  Miss  Sally’ll  be  a hollerin’ 
atter  you,  en  you’ll  be  a whimplin’  roun’,  en  den  Mars 
John’ll  fetch  up  de  re’r  wid  dat  ar  strop  w’at  I made 
fer  ’im.” 

The  child  laughed,  and  playfully  shook  his  fist  in 
the  simple,  serious  face  of  the  venerable  old  darkey, 
but  said  no  more.  Uncle  Remus  waited  awhile  to  be 
sure  there  was  to  be  no  other  demonstration,  and  then 
proceeded : 

“ Brer  Rabbit  ain’t  see  no  peace  w’atsumever. 
He  can’t  leave  home  ’cep’  Brer  Wolf  ’ud  make  a raid 
en  tote  , off  some  er  de  fambly.  Brer  Rabbit  b’ilt  ’im  a 


64 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


straw  house,  en  hit  wuz  tored  down  ; den  he  made  a 
house  outen  pine-tops,  en  dat  went  de  same  way  ; den 


he  made  ’im  a bark  house,  en  dat  wuz  raided  on,  en 
eve’y  time  he  los’  a house  he  los’  one  er  his  chilluns. 
Las’  Brer  Babbit  got  mad,  he  did,  en  oust,  en  den  he 
went  off,  he  did,  en  got  some  kyarpinters,  en  dey  b’ilt 
’im  a plank  house  wid  rock  foundashuns.  Atter  dat 
he  could  have  some  peace  en  quietness.  He  could  go 
out  en  pass  de  time  er  day  wid  his  neighbors,  en  come 
back  en  set  bv  de  tier,  en  smoke  his  pipe,  en  read  de 
newspapers  same  like  enny  man  w’at  got  a fambly. 
He  made  a hole,  he  did,  in  de  cellar  whar  de  little 
Babbits  could  hide  out  w’en  dar  wuz  much  uv  a racket 


THE  AWFUL  FATE  OF  MR.  WOLF. 


65 


in  de  neighborhood,  en  de  latch  er  de  front  do’  kotch  on 
de  inside.  Brer  Wolf,  he  see  how  de  lan’  lay,  he  did, 
en  he  lay  low.  De  little  Babbits  was  mighty  skittish, 
but  hit  got  so  dat  cole  chills  ain’t  run  up  Brer  Babbit’s 
back  no  mo’  w’en  he  heerd  Brer  Wolf  go  gallopin’  by. 

“ Bimeby,  one  day  w’en  Brer  Babbit  wuz  fixin’  fer 
ter  call  on  Miss  Coon,  he  heerd  a monstus  fuss  en  clat- 
ter up  de  big  road,  en  ’mos’  ’fo’  he  could  fix  his  years 
fer  ter  lissen,  Brer  Wolf  run  in  de  do’.  De  little  Bab- 
bits dey  went  inter  dere  hole  in  de  cellar,  dey  did,  like 
blowin’  out  a cannle.  Brer  Wolf  wuz  far’ly  kivver’d 
wid  mud,  en  mighty  nigh  outer  win’. 

“ ‘ Oh,  do  pray  save  me,  Brer  Babbit ! ’ sez  Brer 
Wolf,  sezee.  ‘ Do  please,  Brer  Babbit ! de  dogs  is 
atter  me,  en  dey’ll  t’ar  me  up.  Don’t  you  year  um 
cornin’  ? Oh,  do  please  save  me,  Brer  Babbit ! Hide 
me  some’rs  whar  de  dogs  won’t  git  me.’ 

“ Ho  quicker  sed  dan  done. 

“ ‘ Jump  in  dat  big  cliist  dar,  Brer  Wolf,’  sez  Brer 
Babbit,  sezee  ; 6 jump  in  dar  en  make  yo’se’f  at  home.’ 

“ In  jump  Brer  Wolf,  down  come  the  led,  en  inter 
de  hasp  went  de  hook,  en  dar  Mr.  Wolf  wuz.  Den 
Brer  Babbit  went  ter  de  lookin’-glass,  he  did,  en  wink 
at  hisse’f,  en  den  he  draw’d  de  rockin’-cheer  in  front  er 
de  tier,  he  did,  en  tuck  a big  chaw  terbarker.” 

“ Tobacco,  Uncle  Bemus  ? ” asked  the  little  boy,  in- 
credulously. 

“ Babbit  terbarker,  honey.  You  know  dis  yer  life 


66 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


ev’lastin’  w’at  Miss  Sally  puts  ’mong  de  cloze  in  de 
trunk  ; well,  dat’s  rabbit  terbarker.  Den  Brer  Babbit 
sot  dar  long  time,  be  did,  turnin’  his  mine  over  en 
wukken  hisv thinkin’;masheen. 

Bimeby  he  got  up,  en  sor- 
ter stir  ’roun’.  Den 
Brer  Wolf  open  up  : 

“ 6 Is  de  dogs 
all  gone, 

Babbit  ? ’ 


“ ‘ Seem  like  I hear  one  un  um  smellin’  roun’  de 
chimbly-cornder  des  now.’ 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit  git  de  kittle  en  fill  it  full  er 
water,  en  put  it  on  de  tier. 

“ ‘ W’at  you  doin’  now,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 

“ ‘ I’m  fixin’  fer  ter  make  you  a nice  cup  er  tea, 
Brer  Wolf.’ 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit  went  ter  de  cubberd  en  git  de 


THE  AWFUL  FATE  OF  MR.  WOLF.  67 

gimlet,  en  commence  for  ter  bo’  little  holes  in  de  chist- 
led.  . 

“ ‘ W’at  yon  doin’  now,  Brer  Babbit  1 ’ 

^ 4 I’m  a bo’in’ 
little  holes  so  you 
kin  get  bref,  Brer 
Wolf.’ 

44  Den  Brer  Bab- 
bit went  out  en  git 
some  mo’  wood,  en 
fling  it  on  de  tier. 

44  4 W’at  you  doin’ 
now,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 

44  4 I’m  a chunkin’  up  de  fier  so  you  won’t  git  cole, 
Brer  Wolf.’ 

44  Den  Brer  Babbit  went  down  inter  de  cellar  en 
fotch  out  all  his  chilluns. 

44  4 W’at  you  doin’  now,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 

44  4 I’m  a tellin’  my  chilluns  w’at  a nice  man  you  is, 
Brer  Wolf.’ 

44  En  de  chilluns,  dey  had  ter  put  der  han’s  on  der 
moufs  fer  ter  keep  fum  lafAn’.  Den  Brer  Babbit  he 
got  de  kittle  en  commenced  fer  to  po’  de  hot  water  on 
de  chist-lid. 

44  4 W’at  dat  I hear,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 

44  4 You  hear  de  win’  a Mowin’,  Brer  Wolf.’ 

44  Den  de  water  begin  fer  ter  sif’  thoo. 

44  4 W’at  dat  I feel,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 


68 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ ‘ You  feels  de  fleas  a bitin’,  Brer  Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ Dey  er  bitin’  mighty  hard,  Brer  Rabbit.’ 

“ ‘ Tu’n  over  on  de  udder  side,  Brer  Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ W’at  dat  I feel  now,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Still  you  feels  de  fleas,  Brer  Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ Dey  er  eatin’  me  up,  Brer  Rabbit,’  en  dem  wuz 
de  las’  words  er  Brer  Wolf,  kase  de  scaldin’  water  done 
de  bizness. 

“ Den  Brer  Rabbit  call  in  his  neighbors,  he  did,  en 
dey  hilt  a reg’lar  juberlee ; en  ef  you  go  ter  Brer  Rab- 
bit’s house  right  now,  I dunno  but  w’at  you’ll  fine  Brer 
Wolf’s  hide  hangin’  in  de  back-po’cli,  en  all  bekaze  he 
wuz  so  bizzy  wid  udder  fo’kses  doin’s.” 


XIV. 

MR.  FOX  AND  THE  DECEITFUL  FROGS. 

When  the  little  boy  ran  in  to  see  Uncle  Remus  the 
night  after  he  had  told  him  of  the  awful  fate  of  Brer 
W olf , the  only  response  to  his  greeting  was : 

“ I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker ! ” 

No  explanation  could  convey  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  intonation  and  pronunciation  which  Uncle  Remus 
brought  to  bear  upon  this  wonderful  word.  Those  who 
can  recall  to  mind  the  peculiar  gurgling,  jerking,  liquid 
sound  made  by  pouring  water  from  a large  jug,  or  the 


You  feels  de  fleas  a bitin’,  Brer  Wolf. 


MR.  FOX  AND  THE  DECEITFUL  FROGS. 


G9 


sound  produced  by  throwing  several  stones  in  rapid 
succession  into  a pond  of  deep  water,  may  be  able  to 
form  a very  faint  idea  of  the  sound,  but  it  can  not  be 
reproduced  in  print.  The  little  boy  was  astonished. 

“ What  did  you  say,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker  ! I-doom-er-ker-kum- 
mer-ker ! ” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ Dat’s  Tarrypin  talk,  dat  is.  Bless  yo’  soul,  honey,” 
continued  the  old  man,  brightening  up,  “ w’en  you  git 
ole  ez  me — w’en  you  see  w’at  I sees,  en  year  w’at  I 
years — de  creeturs  dat  you  can’t  talk  wid  ’ll  be  mighty 
skase — dey  will  dat.  W’y,  ders  er  old  gray  rat  w’at 
uses  ’bout  yer,  en  time  atter  time  he  comes  out  w’en 
you  all  done  gone  ter  bed  en  sets  up  dar  in  de  cornder 
en  dozes,  en  me  en  him  talks  by  de  ’our ; en  w’at  dat 
old  rat  dunno  ain’t  down  in  de  spellin’  book.  Des  now, 
w’en  you  run  in  and  broke  me  up,  I wuz  fetchin’  inter 
my  mine  w’at  Brer  Tarrypin  say  ter  Brer  Fox  w’en  he 
turn  ’im  loose  in  de  branch.” 

“ What  did  he  say,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ Dat  w’at  he  said  — I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker  ! 
Brer  Tarrypin  wuz  at  de  bottom  er  de  pon’,  en  he  talk 
back,  he  did,  in  bubbles — I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker ! 
Brer  Fox,  he  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’,  but  Brer  Bull-Frog, 
settin’  on  de  bank,  he  hear  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  did,  en 
he  holler  back : 

“ ‘ J ug-er-rum-kum-dum  ! J ug-er-rum-kum-dum ! ’ 


70 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Den  n’er  Frog  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Knee-deep  ! Knee-deep ! ’ 

“Den  ole  Brer  Bull -Frog,  he 
holler  back : 


“ ‘ Don’t  - you-ber-lieve-’im  ! 
Don’t-you-berlieve-’im ! ’ 

“ Den  de  bubbles  come 
up  fuin  Brer  Tarrypin  : 


“ ‘ I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker ! ’ 

“ Den  n’er  Frog  sing  out : 

“ ‘ Wade  in!  Wade  in!’ 

“ Den  ole  Brer  Bull-Frog  talk  thoo  his  ho’seness: 

“ £ Dar-you’ll-fine-yo’-brudder  ! Dar-you’ll-line-yo’- 
brudder  ! ’ 

“ Sho  nuff,  Brer  Fox  look  over  de  bank,  he  did,  en 
dar  wuz  n’er  Fox  lookin’  at  ’im  outer  de  water.  Den 


MR.  FOX  AND  THE  DECEITFUL  FROGS. 


71 


lie  retch  out  fer  ter  shake  lian’s,  en  in  he  went,  heels 
over  head,  en  Brer  Tarrypin  bubble  out : 

“ 4 1-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker  ! 5 ” 


u Was  the  Fox  drowned,  Uncle  Remus?”  asked  the 
little  boy. 

“ He  wern’t  zackly  drowndid,  honey,”  replied  the 


72 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


old  man,  with  an  air  of  cautious  reserve.  “ He  did 
manage  fer  ter  scramble  out,  but  a little  mo’  en  de  Mud 
Turkle  would  er  got  ’im,  en  den  he’d  er  bin  made  bash 
un  worril  widout  een’.” 


xv. 

MR.  FOX  GOES  A-HUNTING,  BUT  MR.  RABBIT 
BAGS  THE  GAME. 

“ Atter  Brer  Fox  hear  ’bout  bow  Brer  Rabbit 
done  Brer  Wolf,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  scratching  his 
head  with  the  point  of  his  awl,  w he  ’low,  he  did,  dat 
he  better  not  be  so  brash,  en  he  sorter  let  Brer  Rab- 
bit ’lone.  Dey  wuz  all  time  seein’  one  nudder,  en 
’bunnunce  er  times  Brer  Fox  could  er  nab  Brer 
Rabbit,  but  eve’y  time  he  got  de  chance,  his  mine 
’ud  sorter  rezume  ’bout  Brer  Wolf,  en  he  let  Brer 
Rabbit  ’lone.  Bimeby  dey  ’gun  ter  git  kinder  fa- 
milious  wid  wunner  nudder  like  dey  useter,  en  it  got 
so  Brer  Fox’d  call  on  Brer  Rabbit,  en  dey’d  set  up  en 
smoke  der  pipes,  dey  would,  like  no  ha’sh  feelin’s  ’d 
ever  rested  ’twixt  um. 

“ Las’,  one  day  Brer  Fox  come  ’long  all  rig  out,  en 
ax  Brer  Rabbit  fer  ter  go  huntin’  wid  ’im,  but  Brer 
Rabbit,  he  sorter  feel  lazy,  en  he  tell  Brer  Fox  dat 
he  got  some  udder  fish  fer  ter  fry.  Brer  Fox  feel 
mighty  sorry,  he  did,  but  he  say  he  b’leeve  he  try  his 


MR.  FOX  GOES  A-HUNTING. 


73 


han’  enny  how,  en  off  he  put.  He  wuz  gone  all  day, 
en  he  had  a monstus  streak  er  luck,  Brer  Fox  did,  en 
he  bagged  a sight  er  game.  Bime- 
^ J by,  to’rds  de  shank  er  de  evenin’, 

Brer  Rabbit  sorter  stretch  hisse’f, 
he  did,  en  ’low  hit’s  mos’  time  fer 


/f|pr 


Brer  Fox  fer  ter  git  ’long  home.  Den  Brer  Rabbit, 
he  went’n  mounted  a stump  fer  ter  see  ef  he  could 
year  Brer  Fox  cornin’.  He  ain’t  bin  dar  long,  twel 
sho’  nuff,  yer  come  Brer  Fox  thoo  de  woods,  singing 
like  a nigger  at  a frolic.  Brer  Rabbit,  he  lipt  down 
off’n  de  stump,  he  did,  en  lay  down  in  de  road  en 
make  like  he  dead.  Brer  Fox  he  come  ’long,  he  did, 
en  see  Brer  Rabbit  layin’  dar.  He  tu’n  ’im  over,  he 
did,  en  ’zamine  ’im,  en  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Dish  yer  rabbit  dead.  He  look  like  he  bin 
7 


74 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


dead  long  time.  lie  dead,  but  he  mighty  fat.  lie 
de  fattes’  rabbit  w’at  I ever  see,  but  he  bin  dead  too 
long.  I feard  ter  take  ’im  home,’  sezee. 

“ Brer  Babbit  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’.  Brer  Fox,  he 
sorter  lick  his  chops,  but  he  went  on  en  lef’  Brer 
Rabbit  layin’  in  de  road.  Dreckly  he  wuz  outer  sight, 
Brer  Rabbit,  he  jump  up,  he  did,  en  run  roun’  thoo  de 


woods  en  git  befo 
Fox,  he  come  up, 
periently  cole  en 


♦A 

w;, 
, wk 


Brer  Fox  agin.  Brer 
en  dar  lay  Brer  Rabbit, 
stiff.  Brer  Fox,  he  look 
at  Brer  Rabbit,  en 
he  sorter  study.  At- 


ter  while  he  onslung 
his  game-bag,  en  say 
ter  hisse’f,  sezee : 

u 4 Deze  yer  rabbits  gwine  ter  was’e.  I’ll  des  ’bout 
leave  my  game  yer,  en  I’ll  go  back’n  git  dat  udder 
rabbit,  en  I’ll  make  fokes  b’leeve  dat  I’m  ole  man 
Hunter  fum  Huntsville,’  sezee. 


OLD  MR.  RABBIT,  HE’S  A GOOD  FISHERMAN.  75 


“ En  wid  dat  he  drapt  his  game  en  loped  back 
up  de  road  atter  de  udder  rabbit,  en  w’en  he  got  outer 
sight,  ole  Brer  Babbit,  he  snatch  up  Brer  Fox  game 
en  put  out  fer  home.  Bex’  time  he  see  Brer  Fox,  he 
holler  out : 

“ 4 What  you  kill  de  udder  day,  Brer  Fox?’  sezee. 

44  Den  Brer  Fox,  he  sorter  koam  his  Hank  wid  his 
tongue,  en  holler  back  : 

44  4 1 kotch  a han’ful  er  hard  sense,  Brer  Babbit,’ 
sezee. 

44  Den  ole  Brer  Babbit,  he  laff,  he  did,  en  up  en 
’spon’,  sezee  : 

44  4 Ef  I’d  a know’d  you  wuz  atter  dat,  Brer  Fox, 
I’d  a loant  you  some  er  mine,’  sezee.” 


XVI. 

OLD  MR.  RABBIT \ HE'S  A GOOD  FISHERMAN. 

44  Brer  Babbit  en  Brer  Fox  wuz  like  some  chilluns 
w’at  I knows  un,”  said  Uncle  Bemus,  regarding  the 
little  boy,  who  had  come  to  hear  another  story,  with  an 
affectation  of  great  solemnity.  44  Bofe  un  um  wuz 
allers  atter  wunner  nudder,  a prankin’  en  a pester’n 
’roun’,  but  Brer  Babbit  did  had  some  peace,  kaze  Brer 
Fox  done  got  skittish  ’bout  puttin’  de  clamps  on  Brer 
Babbit. 


70 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ One  day,  w’en  Brer  Rabbit,  en  Brer  Fox,  en  Brer 
Coon,  en  Brer  B’ar,  en  a whole  lot  un  um  wuz  clearin’ 
up  a new  groun’  fer  ter  plant  a roas’n’year  patch,  de 
sun  ’gun  ter  git  sorter  hot,  en  Brer  Rabbit  he  got 
tired  ; but  he  didn’t  let  on,  kaze  he  ’fear’d  de  balance 
un  um’d  call  ’im  lazy,  en  he  keep  on  totin’  off  trash  en 
pilin’  up  bresh,  twel  bimeby  he  holler  out  dat  he 
gotter  brier  in  his  han’,  en  den 


4 en  cool  I speck  she  is.  I’ll  des  ’bout  git  in  dar  en 
take  a nap,’  en  wid  dat  in  he  jump,  he  did,  en  he  ain’t 
no  sooner  fix  hisse’f  dan  de  bucket  ’gun  ter  go  down.” 

“Wasn’t  the  Rabbit  scared,  Uncle  Remus?”  asked 
the  little  boy. 


OLD  MR.  RABBIT,  HE’S  A GOOD  FISHERMAN.  77 


“ Honey,  dey  ain’t  been  no  wusser  skeer’d  beas’ 
sence  de  worril  begin  dan  dish  yer  same  Brer  Rabbit. 
He  fa’rly  had  a ager.  He  know  whar  he  cum  fum,  but 
he  dunner  whar  he  gwine.  Dreckly  he  feel  de  bucket 
hit  de  water,  en  dar  she  sot,  but  Brer  Rabbit  he  keep 
mighty  still,  kaze  he  dunner  w’at  minnit  gwineter  be 
de  nex’.  He  des  lay  dar  en  shuck  en  shiver. 

“ Brer  Fox  allers  got  one  eye  on  Brer  Rabbit,  en 
w’en  he  slip  off  fum  de  new  groun’,  Brer  Fox  he  sneak 
atter  ’im.  He  know  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  atter  some 
projick  er  nudder,  en  he  tuck’n  crope  off,  he  did,  en 
watch  ’im.  Brer  Fox  see  Brer  Rabbit  come  to  de  well 
en  stop,  en  den  he  see  ’im  jump  in  de  bucket,  en 
den,  lo  en  beholes,  he  see  ’im  go  down  outer  sight. 
Brer  Fox  wuz  de  mos’  ’stonish  Fox  dat  you  ever  laid 
eyes  on.  He  sot  off  dar  in  de  bushes  en  study  en 
study,  but  he  don’t  make  no  head  ner  tails  ter  dis 
kinder  bizness.  Den  he  say  ter  hisse’f,  sezee  : 

“‘Well,  ef  dis  don’t  bang  my  times,’  sezee,  ‘den 
Joe’s  dead  en  Sal’s  a widder.  Right  down  dar  in  dat 
well  Brer  Rabbit  keep  his  money  hid,  en  ef  ’tain’t  dat 
den  he  done  gone  en  ’skiver’d  a gole-mine,  en  ef 
’tain’t  dat,  den  I’m  a gwineter  see  w’at’s  in  dar,’ 
sezee. 

“ Brer  Fox  crope  up  little  nigher,  he  did,  en  lissen, 
but  he  don’t  year  no  fuss,  en  he  keep  on  gittin’  nigher, 
en  yit  he  don’t  year  nuthin’.  Bimeby  he  git  up  close 
en  peep  down,  but  he  don’t  see  nuthin’  en  he  don’t 


78 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


year  nutliin’.  All  dis  time  Brer  Babbit  miglity  nigh 
skeer’d  outen  liis  skin,  en  lie  fear’d  fer  ter  move  kaze 
de  bucket  might  keel  over  en  spill  him  out  in  de 
water.  W’ile  he  sayin’  his  pra’rs  over  like  a train  er 
kyars  runnin’,  ole  Brer  Fox  holler  out : 

“ 4 Heyo,  Brer  Babbit ! Who  you  wizzitin’  down 
dar  ? ’ sezee. 

“‘Who?  Me?  Oh,  I’m  des  a fishin’,  Brer  Fox,’ 
sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee.  4 1 des  say  ter  myse’f  dat  I’d 
sorter  sprize  you  all  wid  a mess  er  fishes  fer  dinner, 
en  so  here  I is,  en  dar’s  de  fishes.  I’m  a fishin’  fer 
suckers,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

“ 4 Is  dey  many  un  um  down  dar,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ 4 Lots  un  um,  Brer  Fox  ; scoze  en  scoze  un  um. 
De  water  is  natally  live  wid  um.  Come  down  en 
he’p  me  haul  um  in,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Babbit, 
sezee. 

44  4 How  I gwineter  git  down,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ 

“‘Jump  inter  de  bucket,  Brer  Fox.  Hit’ll  fetch 
you  down  all  safe  en  soun’.’ 

“ Brer  Babbit  talk  so  happy  en  talk  so  sweet  dat 
Brer  Fox  he  jump  in  de  bucket,  he  did,  en,  ez  he 
went  down,  co’se  his  weight  pull  Brer  Babbit  up. 
W’en  dey  pass  one  nudder  on  de  half-way  groun’, 
Brer  Babbit  he  sing  out : 

“ ‘ Good-by,  Brer  Fox,  take  keer  yo’  cloze, 

Fer  dis-is  de  way  de  worril  goes  ; 


OLD  MR.  RABBIT,  HE’S  A GOOD  FISHERMAN.  79 


Some  goes  up  en  some  goes  down, 

You’ll  git  ter  de  bottom  all  safe  en  sounV  * 

“ W’en  Brer  Rabbit  got  out,  lie  gallop  off  en  tole 
de  fokes  w’at  de  well  b’long  ter  dat  Brer  Fox  wuz 
down  in  dar  mud- 
dyin’  up  de  drinkin’ 
water,  en  den  be 
gallop  back  ter  de 
well,  en  holler  down 
ter  Brer  Fox  : 

“ ‘ Yer  come  a man  wid  a 
great  big  gun — 

W’en  he  haul  you  up,  you 
jump  en  run.’  ” 

“ What  then,  Un- 
cle Remus  % ” asked 
the  little  boy,  as  the 
old  man  paused. 

“ In  des  ’bout 
half  n’our,  honey, 
bofe  un  um  wuz 
back  in  de  new 
groun’  wukkin  des  like  dey  never  heer’d  er  no  well, 
ceppin’  dat  eve’y  now’n  den  Brer  Rabbit’d  bust  out  in 
er  laff,  en  ole  Brer  Fox,  he’d  git  a spell  er  de  dry  grins.” 

* As  a Northern  friend  suggests  that  this  story  maybe  some- 
what obscure,  it  may  be  as  well  to  state  that  the  well  is  supposed  to 
be  supplied  with  a rope  over  a wheel,  or  pulley,  with  a bucket  at 
each  end. 


80 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


XVII. 

MR.  RABBIT  NIBBLES  UP  TEE  BUTTER. 

“ De  animils  en  de  creeturs,”  said  Uncle  Remus, 
shaking  his  coffee  around  in  the  bottom  of  his  tin-cup, 
in  order  to  gather  up  all  the  sugar,  “ dey  kep’  on  git- 
tin’  mo’  en  mo’  familious  wid  wunner  nudder,  twel 
bimeby,  ’twan’t  long  ’fo’  Brer  Rabbit,  en  Brer  Fox, 
en  Brer  Possum  got  ter  sorter  bunchin’  der  perwishuns 
tergedder  in  de  same  shanty.  Atter  w’ile  de  roof 
sorter  ’gun  ter  leak,  en  one  day  Brer  Rabbit,  en  Brer 
Fox,  en  Brer  Possum,  ’semble  fer  ter  see  ef  dey  can’t 
kinder  patch  her  up.  Dey  had  a big  day’s  work  in 
front  un  um,  en  dey  fotch  der  dinner  wid  um.  Dey 
lump  de  vittles  up  in  one  pile,  en  de  butter  w’at  Brer 
Fox  brung,  dey  goes  en  puts  in  de  spring-’ouse  fer  ter 
keep  cool,  en  den  dey  went  ter  wuk,  en  ’twan’t  long 
’fo’  Brer  Rabbit  stummuck  ’gun  ter  sorter  growl  en 
pester  ’im.  Dat  butter  er  Brer  Fox  sot  heavy  on  his 
mine,  en  his  mouf  water  eve’y  time  he  ’member  ’bout 
it.  Present’y  he  say  ter  hisse’f  dat  he  bleedzd  ter  have 
a nip  at  dat  butter,  en  den  he  lay  his  plans,  he  did. 
Fus’  news  you  know,  w’ile  dey  wuz  all  wukkin’  ’long, 
Brer  Rabbit  raise  his  head  quick  en  fling  his  years 
forrerd  en  holler  out : 

“ ( Here  I is.  W’at  you  want  wid  me  ? ’ en  off 
he  put  like  sump’n  wuz  atter  ’im. 


MR.  RABBIT  NIBBLES  UP  THE  BUTTER.  81 


“ He  sallied  ’roun’,  ole  Brer  Babbit  did,  en  atter 
he  make  sko  dat  nobody  ain’t  foller’n  un  ’im,  inter  de 
spring-’ouse  he  bounces, 
en  dar  he  stays  twel  he 
git  a bait  er  butter.  Den 
he  santer  on  back  en  go 
to  wuk. 

44  4 Whar  you  bin  ? ’ 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

44  4 I hear  my  chilluns 
callin’  me,’  sez  Brer  Bab- 
bit, sezee,  4 en  I hatter 
go  see  w’at  dey  want. 

My  ole  ’oman  done  gone 
en  tuck  mighty  sick,’ 
sezee. 

44  Dey  wuk  on  twel 
bimeby  de  butter  tas’e  so  good  dat  ole  Brer  Babbit 
want  some  mo’.  Den  he  raise  up  his  head,  he  did,  en 
holler  out : 

44  4 Heyo  ! Hole  on  ! I’m  a cornin’ ! ’ en  off  he  put. 

44  Dis  time  he  stay  right  smart  w’ile,  en  w’en  he  git 
back  Brer  Fox  ax  him  whar  he  bin. 

1 44  4 1 been  ter  see  my  ole  ’oman,  en  she’s  a sinkin’,’ 
sezee. 

44  Dreckly  Brer  Babbit  hear  urn  callin’  ’im  ag’in  en 
off  he  goes,  en  dis  time,  bless  yo’  soul,  he  gits  de  butter 
out  so  clean  dat  he  kin  see  hisse’f  in  de  bottom  er  de 


82 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


bucket.  He  scrape  it  clean  en  lick  it  dry,  en  den  he 
go  back  ter  wuk  lookin’  mo’  samer  dan  a nigger  w’at 
de  patter-rollers  bin  had  holt  un. 

“ 6 How’s  yo’  ole  ’oman  dis  time  ? ’ sez  Brer  Fox, 
sezee. 

“ 4 I’m  oblije  ter  you,  Brer  Fox,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee,  4 but  I’m  fear’d  she’s  done  gone  by  now,’  en  dat 
sorter  make  Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Possum  feel  in  moanin’ 
wid  Brer  Rabbit. 

“ Bimeby,  w’en  dinner-time  come,  dey  all  got  out 
der  vittles,  but  Brer  Rabbit  keep  on  lookin’  lonesome, 
en  Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Possum  dey  sorter  rustle  roun’ 
fer  ter  see  ef  dey  can’t  make  Brer  Rabbit  feel  sorter 
splimmy.” 

“What  is  that,  Uncle  Remus?”  asked  the  little 
boy. 

“ Sorter  splimmy-splammy,  honey — sorter  like  he 
in  a crowd — sorter  like  his  ole  ’oman  ain’t  dead  ez  she 
mout  be.  You  know  how  fokes  duz  w’en  dey  gits 
whar  people’s  a moanin’.” 

The  little  boy  didn’t  know,  fortunately  for  him, 
and  Uncle  Remus  went  on  : 

“ Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Possum  rustle  roun’,  dey  did, 
gittin  out  de  vittles,  en  bimeby  Brer  Fox,  he  say, 
sezee  : 

“ ‘ Brer  Possum,  you  run  down  ter  de  spring  en 
fetch  de  butter,  en  I’ll  sail  ’roun’  yer  en  set  de  table,’ 


sezee. 


MR.  RABBIT  NIBBLES  UP  THE  BUTTER. 


83 


“Brer  Possum,  lie  lope  off  atter  de  butter,  en 
dreckly  here  he  come  lopin’  back  wid  his  years  a 
trimblin’  en  his  tongue  a hangin’  out.  Brer  Fox,  he 
holler  out : 

“ 4 W’at  de  matter  now,  Brer  Possum  ? 9 sezee. 

“ ‘ You  all  better  run  yer,  fokes,’  sez  Brer  Possum, 
sezee.  £ De  las’  drap  er  dat  butter  done  gone ! ’ 

“ £ Whar  she  gone  ? ’ sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ ‘ Look  like  she  dry  up,’  sez  Brer  Possum,  sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Rabbit,  he  look  sorter  solium,  he  did, 
en  he  up’n  say,  sezee. 

“ ‘ I speck  dat  butter  melt  in  somebody  mouf,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den  dey  went  down  ter  de  spring  wid  Brer  Pos- 
sum, en  sho  nuff  de  butter  done  gone.  W’iles  dey 
wuz  sputin’  over  der  wunderment,  Brer  Rabbit  say  he 
see  tracks  all  ’roun’  dar,  en  he  p’int  out  dat  ef  dey’ll 
all  go  ter  sleep,  he  kin  ketch  de  chap  w’at  stole  de 
butter.  Den  dey  all  lie  down  en  Brer  Fox  en  Brer 
Possum  dey  soon  drapt  off  ter  sleep,  but  Brer  Rabbit 
he  stay  ’wake,  en  w’en  de  time  come  he  raise  up  easy 
en  smear  Brer  Possum  mouf  wid  de  butter  on  his 
paws,  en  den  he  run  off  en  nibble  up  de  bes’  er  de 
dinner  w’at  dey  lef’  layin’  out,  en  den  he  come  back 
en  wake  up  Brer  Fox,  en  show  ’im  de  butter  on  Brer 
Possum  mouf.  Den  dey  wake  up  Brer  Possum,  en 
tell  ’im  ’bout  it,  but  c’ose  Brer  Possum  ’ny  it  ter  de 
las’.  Brfer  Fox,  dough,  he’s  a kinder  lawyer,  en  he 


84 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


argafy  dis  way — dat  Brer  Possum  wuz  de  fus  one  at 
de  butter,  en  de  fus  one  fer  ter  miss  it,  en  mo’n  dat, 
dar  bang  de  signs  on  his  mouf.  Brer  Pos- 
; sum  see  dat  dey 


ketch  de  man  w’at 


stole  de  butter  is  ter  b’il’  a big  bresh-heap  en  set  her 
after,  en  all  ban’s  try  ter  jump  over,  en  de  one  w’at 
fall  in,  den  he  de  chap  w’at  stole  de  butter.  Brer 
Babbit  en  Brer  Fox  dey  bofe  ’gree,  dey  did,  en  dey 
whirl  in  en  b’il’  de  bresh-heap,  en  dey  b’il’  her  high  en 
dey  b’il’  her  wide,  en  den  dey  totch  her  off.  W’en  she 
got  ter  blazin’  up  good,  Brer  Babbit,  he  tuck  de  fus 
turn.  He  sorter  step  back,  en  look  ’roun’  en  giggle, 


MR.  RABBIT  NIBBLES  UP  THE  BUTTER. 


85 


en  over  lie  went  mo’  sarner  dan  a bird  flyin’.  Den 
come  Brer  Fox.  He  got  back  little  f udder,  en  spit 
on  bis  han’s,  en  lit  out  en  made  de  jump,  en  he  come 

so  nigh  gittin’  in  dat 


a tone  that  implied  both  conciliation  and  information. 

The  little  boy  thought  probably  he  had,  but  he 
wouldn’t  commit  himself. 


“ Well,  den,”  continued  the  old  man,  “ nex’  time 
you  see  one  un  urn,  you  look  right  close  en  see  ef  de 
een’  er  his  tail  ain’t  w’ite.  Hit’s  des  like  I tell  you. 
Dey  b’ars  de  skyar  er  dat  bresh-heap  down  ter  dis  day. 
Dey  er  marked — dat’s  w’at  dey  is — dey  er  marked.” 


86 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ And  what  about  Brother  Possum  ? ” asked  the 
little  boy. 

“ Ole  Brer  Possum,  he  tuck  a runnin’  start,  he  did, 
en  he  come  lumberin’  ’long,  en  he  lit — kerblam  ! — 
right  in  de  middle  er  de  tier,  en  dat  wuz  de  las’  er  ole 
Brer  Possum.” 

“ But,  Uncle  Bemus,  Brother  Possum  didn’t  steal 
the  butter  after  all,”  said  the  little  boy,  who  was  not  at 
all  satisfied  with  such  summary  injustice. 

“ Dat  w’at  make  I say  w’at  I duz,  honey.  In  dis 
worril.  lots  er  fokes  is  gotter  suffer  fer  udder  fokes 
sins.  Look  like  hit’s  mighty  onwrong ; but  hit’s  des 
dat  away.  Tribbalashun  seem  like  she’s  a waitin’ 
roun’  de  cornder  fer  ter  ketch  one  en  all  un  us, 
honey.” 


XVIII. 

MR.  RABBIT  FINDS  HIS  MATCH  AT  LAST. 

“ Hit  look  like  ter  me  dat  I let  on  de  udder  night 
dat  in  dem  days  w’en  de  creeturs  wuz  santer’n  ’roun’ 
same  like  fokes,  none  un  um  wuz  brash  nuff  fer  ter 
ketch  up  wid  Brer  Babbit,”  remarked  Uncle  Bemus, 
reflectively. 

“Yes,”  replied  the  little  boy,  “ that’s  what  you 
said.” 

“ Well,  den,”  continued  the  old  man  with  unction, 


MR.  RABBIT  FINDS  HIS  MATCH  AT  LAST.  87 


“ dar’s  wliar  my  ’membunce  gin  out,  kaze  Brer  Rabbit 
did  git  kotched  up  wid,  en  hit  cool  ’im  off  like  po’in’ 
spring  water  on  one  er  deze  yer  biggity  fices.” 

“ How  was  that,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy. 

“ One  day  w’en  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  gwine  lippity- 
clippitin’  down  de  road,  he  meet  up  wid  ole  Brer 
Tarrypin,  en  atter  dey  pass  de  time  er  day  wid  wunner 
nudder,  Brer  Rabbit,  he  ’low  dat  he  wuz  much  ’blije 
ter  Brer  Tarrypin  fer  de  han’  he  tuck  in  de  rumpus 
dat  day  down  at  Miss  Meadows’s.” 

“ When  he  dropped  off  of  the  water-shelf  on  the 
Fox’s  head,”  suggested  the  little  boy. 

“ Dat’s  de  same  time,  honey.  Den  Brer  Tarrypin 
’low  dat  Brer  Fox  run  mighty  fas’  dat  day, 
but  dat  ef  he’d  er  bin  atter  ’im  stidder 
Brer  Rabbit,  he’d  er  kotch  ’im.  Brer 
Rabbit  say  he  could  er  kotch  ’im  hisse’f 
but  he  didn’t 
keer’bout  leav- 
in’ de  ladies.  ' ■>  , . ^ 

Dey  keep  on 
talkin’,  dey  did, 
twel  bimeby 
dey  gotter  ’spu- 
tin’  ’bout  w’ich 
wuz  de  swif’es’.  Brer  Rabbit,  he  say  he  kin  outrun 
Brer  Tarrypin,  en  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  des  vow  dat  he 


88 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


kin  outrun  Brer  Rabbit.  Up  en  down  dey  had  it,  twel 
fus  news  you  know  Brer  Tarrypin  say  he  got  a fifty- 
dollar  bill  in  de  chink  er  de  cliimbly  at  home,  en  dat 
bill  done  tole  ’im  dat  lie  could  beat  Brer  Rabbit  in 
a fa’r  race.  Den  Brer  Rabbit  say  he  got  a fifty-dol- 
lar  bill  w’at  say  dat  he  kin  leave  Brer  Tarrypin  so  fur 
beliime,  dat  he  could  sow  barley  ez  he  went  ’long  en 
hit  ’ud  be  ripe  nuff  fer  ter  cut  by  de  time  Brer  Tar- 
rypin pass  dat  way. 

“ Enny  how  dey  make  de  bet  en  put  up  de  money, 
en  ole  Brer  Tukky  Buzzard,  he  wuz  summonzd  fer 
ter  be  de  jedge,  en  de  stakeholder ; en  ’twan’t  long  ’fo’ 
all  de  ’rangements  wuz  made.  De  race  wuz  a five-mile 
heat,  en  de  groun’  wuz  medjud  off,  en  at  de  een’  er 
ev’ey  mile  a pos’  wuz  stuck  up.  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  ter 
run  down  de  big  road,  en  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  say  he’d 
gallup  thoo  de  woods.  Fokes  tole  ’im  he  could  git 
long  faster  in  de  road,  but  ole  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  know 
w’at  he  doin’.  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  en  mos’  all  de 
nabers  got  win’  er  de  fun,  en  w’en  de  day  wuz  sot  dey 
’termin’  fer  ter  be  on  ban’.  Brer  Rabbit  he  train  his- 
se’f  ev’ey  day,  en  he  skip  over  de  groun’  des  ez  gayly  ez 
a June  cricket.  Ole  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  lay  low  in  de 
swamp.  He  had  a wife  en  th’ee  chilluns,  ole  Brer 
Tarrypin  did,  en  dey  wuz  all  de  ve’y  spit  en  image  er  de 
ole  man.  Ennybody  w’at  know  one  fum  de  udder  gotter 
take  a spy-glass,  en  den  dey  er  li’ble  fer  ter  git  fooled. 

“ Dat’s  de  way  marters  stan’  twel  de  day  er  de 


MR.  RABBIT  FINDS  HIS  MATCH  AT  LAST.  89 


race,  eii  on  dat  day,  ole  Brer  Tarry  pin,  en  his  ole 
’oman,  en  his  th’ee  chilluns,  dey  got  up  ’fo’  sun-up,  en 
went  ter  de  place.  De  ole  ’oman,  she  tuck  ’er  stan’ 
nigh  de  fus’  mile-pos’,  she  did,  en  de  chilluns  nigh  de 
udders,  up  ter  de  las’,  en  dar  old  Brer  Tarrypin,  he 
tuck  his  stan’.  Bimeby,  here  come  de  fokes  : Jedge 
Buzzard,  he  come,  en  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals,  dey 
come,  en  den  yer  come  Brer  Babbit  wid  ribbins  tied 
’roun’  his  neck  en  streamin’  fum  his  years.  De  fokes 
all  went  ter  de  udder  een’  er  de  track  fer  ter  see  how 
dey  come  out.  W’en  de  time  come  Jedge  Buzzard 
strut  ’roun’  en  pull  out  his  watch,  en  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Gents,  is  you  ready  ? ’ 

“ Brer  Babbit,  he  say  ‘ yes,’  en  ole  Miss  i 

Tarrypin  holler  ‘ go  ’ fum  de  aidge  er  de 
woods.  Brer  Babbit,  he  lit  out  on  de 
race,  en  ole  Miss  Tarrypin,  she  put  out 
for  home.  Jedge 
Buzzard,  he  riz 
en  skimmed 
’long  fer  ter 
see  dat  de  race 
wuz  runned 
fa’r.  W’en  Brer 
Babbit  got  ter 

de  fus  mile-pos’  wunner  de  Tarrypin  chilluns  crawl  out 
de  woods,  he  did,  en  make  fer  de  place.  Berr  Babbit, 
he  holler  out : 


90 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ c Whar  is  you,  Brer  Tarrypin  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yer  I come  a bulgin’,’  sez  de  Tarrypin,  sezee. 

“ Brer  Rabbit  so  glad  lie’s  ahead  dat  he  put  out 
harder  dan  ever,  en  de  Tarrypin,  he  make  fer  home. 
W’en  he  come  ter  de  nex’  pos’,  nudder  Tarrypin  crawl 
out  er  de  woods. 

“ ‘ Whar  is  you,  Brer  Tarrypin  ? ’ sez  Brer  Rabbit, 
sezee. 

“ ‘ Yer  I come  a bilin’,’  sez  de  Tarrypin,  sezee. 

“ Brer  Rabbit,  he  lit  out,  he  did,  en  come  ter  nex’ 
pos’,  en  dar  wuz  de  Tarrypin.  Den  he  come  ter  nex’, 
en  dar  wuz  de  Tarrypin.  Den  he 
had  one  mo’  mile  fer  ter  run,  en 
he  feel  like  he 
lust.  Bimeby, 

Tarrypin  look 
way  off  down 
de  road  en  he 
see  Jedge  Buz- 
zard sailin’ 

’long  en  he 
know  hit’s  time 
fer  ’im  fer  ter 
be  up.  So  he 
scramble  outen  de  woods,  en  roll  ’cross  de  ditch,  en 
shuffle  thoo  de  crowd  er  folks  en  git  ter  de  mile- 
pos’  en  crawl  behime  it.  Bimeby,  fus’  news  you 
know,  yer  come  Brer  Rabbit.  He  look  ’roun’  en 


MR.  RABBIT  FINDS  HIS  MATCH  AT  LAST.  91 

lie  don’t  see  Brer  Tarrypin,  en  den  he  squall 
out : 

“ 6 Gimme  de  money,  Brer  Buzzard  ! Gimme  de 
money ! ’ 

“ Den  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals,  dey  holler  and  laff 
fit  ter  kill  deyse’f,  en  ole  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  raise  up 
fum  behime  de  pos’  en  sez,  sezee  : 

“ 6 Ef  you’ll  gimme  time  fer  ter  ketch  my  breff, 
gents  en  ladies,  one  en  all,  I speck  I’ll  finger  dat 
money  myse’f,’  sezee,  en  sho  nuff,  Brer  Tarrypin  tie 
de  pu’s  ’roun’  his  neck  en  skaddle  * off  home.” 

“ But,  Uncle  Remus,”  said  the  little  boy,  dolefully, 
“ that  was  cheating.” 

“ Co’se,  honey.  De  creeturs  ’gun  ter  cheat,  en 
den  fokes  tuck  it  up,  en  hit  keep  on  spreadin’.  Hit 
mighty  ketchin’,  en  you  mine  yo’  eye,  honey,  dat  some- 
body don’t  cheat  you  ’fo’  yo’  ha’r  git  gray  ez  de  ole 
nigger’s.” 

* It  may  be  interesting  to  note  here  that  in  all  probability  the 
word  “ skedaddle,”  about  which  there  was  some  controversy  during 
the  war,  came  from  the  Virginia  negro’s  use  of  “ skaddle,”  which  is 
a corruption  of  “ scatter.”  The  matter,  however,  is  hardly  worth 
referring  to. 


92 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


XIX. 

THE  FATE  OF  MR.  JACK  SPARROW. 

“ You’ll  tromple  on  dat  bark  twel  hit  won’t  be 
litten  fer  ter  fling  ’way,  let  ’lone  make  boss-collars 
out’n,”  said  Uncle  Bemus,  as  the  little  boy  came  run- 
ning into  his  cabin  out  of  the  rain.  All  over  the  floor 
long  strips  of  “ wahoo  ” bark  were  spread,  and  these 
the  old  man  was  weaving  into  horse-collars. 

“ I’ll  sit  down,  Uncle  Bemus,”  said  the  little  boy. 

“Well,  den,  you  better,  honey,”  responded  the  old 
man,  “ kaze  I ’spizes  fer  ter  have  my  wahoo  trompled  on. 
Ef  ’twuz  shucks,  now,  hit  mout  be  diffunt,  but  I’m  a 
gittin’  too  ole  fer  ter  be  projickin’  longer  shuck  collars.” 

For  a few  minutes  the  old  man  went  on  with  his 
work,  but  with  a solemn  air  altogether  unusual.  Once 
or  twice  he  sighed  deeply,  and  the  sighs  ended  in  a 
prolonged  groan,  that  seemed  to  the  little  boy  to  be 
the  result  of  the  most  unspeakable  mental  agony.  He 
knew  by  experience  that  he  had  done  something  which 
failed  to  meet  the  approval  of  Uncle  Bemus,  and  he 
tried  to  remember  what  it  was,  so  as  to  frame  an  ex- 
cuse ; but  his  memory  failed  him.  He  could  think  of 
nothing  he  had  done  calculated  to  stir  Uncle  Bemus’s 
grief.  He  was  not  exactly  seized  with  remorse,  but  he 
was  very  uneasy.  Presently  Uncle  Bemus  looked  at 
him  in  a sad  and  hopeless  way,  and  asked  : 


THE  FATE  OF  MR.  JACK  SPARROW. 


93 


“ W’at  dat  long  rigmarole  you  bin  tellin’  Miss 
Sally  ’bout  yo’  little  brer  dis  mawnin  ? ” 

“Which,  Uncle  Remus?”  asked  the  little  boy, 
blushing  guiltily. 

“ Dat  des  w’at  I’m  a axin’  un  you  now.  I hear 
Miss  Sally  say  she’s  a gwineter  stripe  his  jacket,  en 
den  I knowed  you  bin  tellin’  on  ’im.” 

“ Well,  Uncle  Remus,  he  was  pulling  up  your 
onions,  and  then  he  went  and  flung  a rock  at  me,” 
said  the  child,  plaintively. 

“ Lemme  tell  you  dis,”  said  the  old  man,  laying 
down  the  section  of  horse-collar  he  had  been  plaiting, 
and  looking  hard  at  the  little  boy — “ lemme  tell  you 
dis — der  ain’t  no  way  fer  ter  make  tattlers  en  tail- 
b’arers  turn  out  good.  Ro,  dey  ain’t.  I bin  mixin’ 
up  wid  fokes  now  gwine  on  eighty  year,  en  I ain’t 
seed  no  tattler  come  ter  no  good  een’.  Dat  I ain’t. 
En  ef  ole  man  M’thoozlum  wuz  livin’  clean  twel  yit, 
he’d  up’n  tell  you  de  same.  Sho  ez  youer  settin’  dar. 
You  ’member  w’at  ’come  er  de  bird  w’at  went  tattlin’ 
’roun’  ’bout  Brer  Rabbit  ? ” 

The  little  boy  didn’t  remember,  but  he  was  very 
anxious  to  know,  and  he  also  wanted  to  know  what 
kind  of  a bird  it  was  that  so  disgraced  itself. 

“ Hit  wuz  wunner  dese  yer  uppity  little  Jack 
Sparrers,  I speck,”  said  the  old  man  ; “ dey  wuz  allers 
bodder’n’  longer  udder  fokes’s  bizness,  en  dey  keeps  at 
it  down  ter  dis  day — peckin’  yer,  en  pickin’  dar,  en 


scratcliin’  out  yander. 
day,  atter  he  bin  fool  by 
Tarrypin,  Brer  Babbit  wuz  settin’ 
down  in  de  woods  studdyin’  how 
he  wuz  gwineter  git  even.  He  feel 
mighty  lonesome,  en  he  feel  mighty 
mad,  Brer  Babbit  did.  Tain’t  put 
down  in  de  tale,  but  I speck  he 
cusst  en  Far’d  ’roun’  consid- 
erbul.  Leas’ways,  he  wuz 
settin’  out  dar  by  his- 
se’f,  en  dar  he  sot,  en 
study  en  study,  twel 
bimeby  he  jump  up 
en  holler  out : 

“ 4 Well,  dog- 
gone my  cats  ef  I can’t 
gallop  ’roun’  ole  Brer 
Fox,  en  I’m  gwineter 
do  it.  I’ll  show  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  dat 
I’m  de  boss  er  Brer 
Fox,’  sezee. 

“ Jack  Sparrer  up 


94 


THE  FATE  OF  MR.  JACK  SPARROW. 


95 


in  de  tree,  he  hear  Brer  Rabbit,  he  did,  en  he  sing 
out : 

I’m  gwine  tell  Brer  Fox!  I’m  gwine  tell  Brer 
Fox  ! Chick-a-biddy-wi  n’-a- bio  win’-acuns-f  allin’  ! I’m 
gwine  tell  Brer  Fox  ! ’ ” 

Uncle  Remus  accompanied  the  speech  of  the  bird 
with  a peculiar  whistling  sound  in  his  throat,  that  was 
a marvelous  imitation  of  a sparrow’s  chirp,  and  the 
little  boy  clapped  his  hands  with  delight,  and  insisted 
on  a repetition. 

“ Dis  kinder  tarrify  Brer  Rabbit,  en  he  skasely 
know  w’at  he  gwine  do  ; but  bimeby  he  study  ter 
hisse’f  dat  de  man  w’at  see  Brer  Fox  fus  wuz  boun’ 
ter  have  de  inturn,  en  den  he  go  lioppin’  off  to’rds 
home.  He  didn’t  got  fur  w’en  who  should  he  meet 
but  Brer  Fox,  en  den  Brer  Rabbit,  he  open  up  : 

“ 6 W’at  dis  twix’  you  en  me,  Brer  Fox  ? ’ sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee.  4 1 hear  tell  you  gwine  ter  sen’  me  ter 
’struckshun,  en  nab  my  fambly,  en  ’stroy  my  shanty,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Fox  he  git  mighty  mad. 

“ 4 Who  bin  tellin’  you  all  dis  ? ’ sezee. 

“ Brer  Rabbit  make  like  he  didn’t  want  ter  tell,  but 
Brer  Fox  he  ’sist  en  ’sist,  twel  at  las’  Brer  Rabbit  he 
up  en  tell  Brer  Fox  dat  he  hear  Jack  Sparrer  say 
all  dis. 

“ ‘ Co’se,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  ‘ w’en  Brer  Jack 
Sparrer  tell  me  dat  I flew  up,  I did,  en  I use  some 


96 


LEGENDS  OF  TIIE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


langwidge  w’ich  I’m  mighty  glad  dey  wern’t  no  ladies 
’roun’  nowhars  so  dey  could  hear  me  go  on,’  sezee. 

“ Brer  Fox  he  sorter  gap,  he  did,  en  say  he  speck 
he  better  be  sa’nter’n  on.  But,  bless  yo’  soul,  honey, 
Brer  Fox  ain’t  sa’nter  fur,  ’fo’  Jack  Sparrer  flipp 
down  on  a ’simmon-bush  by  de  side  er  de  road,  en 
holler  out : 

“ ‘ Brer  Fox ! Oh,  Brer  Fox  ! — Brer  Fox  ! ’ 

“ Brer  Fox  he  des  sorter  canter  ’long,  he  did,  en 
make  like  he  don’t  hear  ’im.  Den  Jack  Sparrer  up’n 
sing  out  agin  : 

“ ‘ Brer  Fox!  Oh,  Brer  Fox!  Hole  on,  Brer 
Fox!  I got  some  news  fer  you.  Wait  Brer  Fox! 
Hit'll  ’stonish  you.’ 

“ Brer  Fox  he  make  like  he  don’t  see  Jack  Sparrer, 
ner  needer  do  he  hear  ’im,  but  bimeby  he  lay  down  by 
de  road,  en  sorter  stretch  hisse’f  like  he  fixin’  fer  ter 


nap.  De  tattlin’  Jack  Sparrer 
he  flew’d  ’long,  en  keep  on 
callin’  Brer  Fox,  but  Brer  Fox, 
he  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’.  Den 


little  Jack 
Sparrer,  he 
hop  down  on 
de  groun’  en 


2^'  S- 


’mongst  de 
trash.  Dis 


THE  FATE  OF  MR.  JACK  SPARROW.  97 

sorter  ’track  Brer  Fox  ’tenshun,  en  he  look  at  de 
tattlin’  bird,  en  de  bird  he  keep  on  callin’ : 

“ ‘ I got  sump’n  fer  ter  tell  you,  Brer  Fox.’ 

“ ‘ Git  on  my  tail,  little  Jack  Sparrer,’  sez  Brer 
Fox,  sezee,  ‘kaze  I’m  de’f  in  one  year,  en  I can’t  hear 
out’n  de  udder.  Git  on  my  tail,’  sezee. 

“ Den  de  little  bird  he  up’n  hop  on  Brer  Fox’s  tail. 

“ ‘ Git  on  my  back,  little  Jack  Sparrer,  kaze  I’m 
de’f  in  one  year  en  I can’t  hear  out’n  de  udder.’ 

“ Den  de  little  bird  hop  on  his  back. 

“‘Hop  on  my  head,  little  Jack  Sparrer,  kaze  I’m 
de’f  in  bofe  years.’ 

“ Up  hop  de  little  bird. 

“ ‘ Hop  on  my  toof,  little  Jack  Sparrer,  kaze  I’m 
de’f  in  one  year  en  I can’t  hear  out’n  de  udder.’ 

“ De  tattlin’  little  bird  hop  on  Brer  Fox’s  toof,  en 
den—” 

Here  Uncle  Bemus  paused,  opened  wide  his  mouth 
and  closed  it  again  in  a way  that  told  the  whole 
story.  * 


* An  Atlanta  friend  heard  this  story  in  Florida,  but  an  alli- 
gator was  substituted  for  the  fox,  and  a little  boy  for  the  rabbit. 
There  is  another  version  in  which  the  impertinent  gosling  goes  to 
tell  the  fox  something  her  mother  has  said,  and  is  caught ; and 
there  may  be  other  versions.  I have  adhered  to  the  middle 
Georgia  version,  which  is  characteristic  enough.  It  may  be  well  to 
state  that  there  are  different  versions  of  all  the  stories — the  shrewd 
narrators  of  the  mythology  of  the  old  plantation  adapting  them- 
selves with  ready  tact  to  the  years,  tastes,  and  expectations  of  their 
juvenile  audiences. 


98 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Did  the  Fox  eat  the  bird  all — all — up  ? ” asked 
the  little  boy. 

“ Jedge  B’ar  come  ’long  nex’  day,”  replied  Uncle 
Remus,  “ en  he  fine  some  fedders,  en  fum  dat  word 
went  roun’  dat  ole  man  Squinch  Owl  done  kotch  nud- 
der  watzizname.” 


xx. 

HOW  MR.  RABBIT  SAVED  IIIS  MEAT. 

“ One  time,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  whetting  his  knife 
slowly  and  thoughtfully  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
gazing  reflectively  in  the  fire — “ one  time  Brer 
Wolf—” 

“Why,  Uncle  Remus!”  the  little  boy  broke  in, 
“ I thought  you  said  the  Rabbit  scalded  the  W olf  to 
death  a long  time  ago.” 

The  old  man  was  fairly  caught  and  he  knew  it ; 
but  this  made  little  difference  to  him.  A frown 
gathered  on  his  usually  serene  brow  as  he  turned  his 
gaze  upon  the  child — a frown  in  which  both  scorn  and 
indignation  were  visible.  Then  all  at  once  he  seemed 
to  regain  control  of  himself.  The  frown  was  chased 
away  by  a look  of  Christian  resignation. 

“ Dar  now  ! W’at  I tell  you  ? ” he  exclaimed  as 
if  addressing  a witness  concealed  under  the  bed. 
“ Ain’t  I done  tole  you  so  ? Bless  grashus  ! ef  chilluns 
ain’t  gittin’  so  dey  knows  mo’n  ole  fokes,  en  dey’ll 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  SAVED  IIIS  MEAT. 


99 


spute  longer  you  en  spute  longer  you,  ceppin  der  ma 
call  um,  w’ich  I speck  twon’t  be  long  ’fo’  she  will,  en 
den  I’ll  set  yere  by  de  chimbly-cornder  en  git  some 
peace  er  mine.  W’en  ole  Miss  wuz  livin’,”  continued 
the  old  man,  still  addressing  some  imaginary  person, 
hit  ’uz  mo’n  enny  her  cliilluns  ’ud  dast  ter  do  ter 
come  ’sputin’  longer  me,  en  Mars  John’ll  tell  you  de 
same  enny  day  you  ax  ’im.” 

“ Well,  Uncle  Remus,  you  know  you  said  the 
Rabbit  poured  hot  water  on  the  Wolf  and  killed  him,” 
said  the  little  boy. 

The  old  man  pretended  not  to  hear.  He  was  en- 
gaged in  searching  among  some  scraps  of  leather  under 
his  chair,  and  kept  on  talking  to  the  imaginary  person. 
Finally,  he  found  and  drew  forth  a nicely  plaited 
whip-thong  with  a red  snapper  all  waxed  and  knotted. 

“ I wuz  fixin’  up  a w’ip  fer  a little  chap,”  he  con- 
tinued, with  a sigh,  “ but,  bless  grashus  ! ’fo’  I kin  git 
’er  done,  de  little  chap  done  grow’d  up  twel  he  know 
mo’n  I duz.” 

The  child’s  eyes  tilled  with  tears  and  his  lips  began 
to  quiver,  but  he  said  nothing ; whereupon  Uncle 
Remus  immediately  melted. 

u I ’clar’  to  goodness,”  he  said,  reaching  out  and 
taking  the  little  boy  tenderly  by  the  hand,  “ ef  you 
ain’t  de  ve’y  spit  en  image  er  ole  Miss  w’en  I brung 
’er  de  las’  news  er  de  war.  Hit’s  des  like  skeerin’  up 
a ghos’  w’at  you  ain’t  fear’d  un.” 


100  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

Then  there  was  a pause,  the  old  man  patting  the 
little  child’s  hand  caressingly. 

“You  ain’t  mad,  is  you,  honey?”  Uncle  Remus 
asked  finally,  “ kaze  ef  you  is,  I’m  gwine  out  yere  en 
butt  my  head  ’gin  de  do’  jam’.” 

But  the  little  boy  wasn’t  mad.  Uncle  Remus  had 
conquered  him  and  he  had  conquered  Uncle  Remus 
in  pretty  much  the  same  way  before.  But  it  was  some 
time  before  Uncle  Remus  would  go  on  with  the  story. 
He  had  to  be  coaxed.  At  last,  however,  he  settled 
himself  back  in  the  chair  and  began  : 

“ Co’se,  honey,  hit  mout  er  bin  ole 


Brer  Wolf,  er  hit  mout  er  bin  er  n’er 
Brer  Wolf  ; it  mout  er  bin  ’fo’  he  got 
kotch  up  wid,  er  it  mout  er  bin  atter- 
wards.  Ez  de  tale  wer  gun  to  me  des 
dat  away  I gin  it  unter  you.  One 
time  Brer  Wolf  wuz  cornin’  ’long 
home  fum  a fishin’  frolic.  He  s’anter 
’long  de  road,  he  did,  wid  his  string 
er  fish  ’cross  his  shoulder,  wen  fus 


news  you  know  ole 
Miss  Pa’tridge,  she 


hop  outer  de  bushes 
en  flutter  ’long  right 
at  Brer  Wolf  nose. 
Brer  Wolf  he  say  ter 
hisse’f  dat  ole  Miss 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  SAVED  HIS  MEAT. 


101 


Pa’tridge  tryin’  fer  ter  toll  ’im  ’way  fum  her  nes’,  en 
wid  dat  lie  lay  liis  fish  down  en  put  out  inter  de  bushes 
whar  ole  Miss  Pa’tridge  come  fum,  en  ’bout  dat  time 
Brer  Babbit,  he  happen  ’long.  Dar  wuz  de  fishes,  en 
dar  wuz  Brer  Babbit,  en  w’en  dat  de  case  w’at  you 
speck  a sorter  innerpen’ent  man  like  Brer  Babbit 
gwine  do  ? I kin  tell  you  dis,  dat  dem  fishes  ain’t  stay 
whar  Brer  Wolf  put  um  at,  en  w’en  Brer  Wolf  come 
back  dey  wuz  gone. 

“Brer  Wolf,  he  sot  down  en  scratch  his  head,  he 
did,  en  study  en  study,  en  den  hit  sorter  rush  inter 
his  mine  dat  Brer  Babbit  bin  ’long  dar,  en  den  Brer 
Wolf,  he  put  out  fer  Brer  Babbit  house,  en  w’en  he 
git  dar  he  hail  ’im.  Brer  Babbit,  he  dunno  nuthin’ 
tall  ’bout  no  fishes.  Brer  Wolf  he  up’n  say  he  bleedzd 
ter  b’leeve  Brer  Babbit  got  dem  fishes.  Brer  Babbit 
’ny  it  up  en  down,  but  Brer  Wolf  stan’  to  it  dat  Brer 
Babbit  got  dem  fishes.  Brer  Babbit,  he  say  dat  if 
Brer  Wolf  b’leeve  he  got  de  fishes,  den  he  give  Brer 
Wolf  lief  fer  ter  kill  de  bes’  cow  he  got.  Brer  Wolf, 
he  tuck  Brer  Babbit  at  his  word,  en  go  off  ter  de 
pastur’  en  drive  up  de  cattle  en  kill  Brer  Babbit  bes’ 
cow. 

“ Brer  Babbit,  he  hate  mighty  bad  fer  ter  lose  his 
cow,  but  he  lay  his  plans,  en  he  tell  his  chilluns  dat 
he  gwineter  have  dat  beef  yit.  Brer  Wolf,  he  bin 
tuck  up  by  de  patter-rollers  ’fo’  now,  en  he  mighty 
skeerd  un  um,  en  fus  news  you  know,  yer  come  Brer 


102 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


Babbit  hollerin’  en  tellin’  Brer  Wolf  dat  de  patter- 
rollers  cornin’. 

“ ‘ You  run  en  hide,  Brer  Wolf,’  sez  Brer  Babbit, 
sezee,  ‘ en  I’ll  stay  yer  en  take  keer  er  de  cow  twel  you 
gits  back,’  sezee. 

“ Soon’s  Brer  Wolf  hear  talk  er  de  patter-rollers, 
he  scramble  off  inter  de  underbresh  like  he  bin  shot 
out’n  a gun.  En  he  want  mo’n  gone  ’fo’  Brer  Babbit, 
he  whirl  in  en  skunt  de  cow  en  salt  de  hide  down,  en 
den  he  tuck’n  cut  up  de  kyarkiss  en  stow  it  ’way  in  de 
smoke-’ouse,  en  den  he  tuck’n  stick  de  een’  er  de  cow- 
tail  in  de  groun’.  Atter  he  gone  en  done  all  dis,  den 
Brer  Babbit  he  squall  out  fer  Brer  Wolf : 

“‘Bun  yer,  Brer  Wolf!  Bun  yer!  Yo’  cow 
gwine  in  de  groun’ ! Bun  yer  ! ’ 

“ W’en  ole  Brer  Wolf  got  dar,  w’ich  he  come  er 
scootin’,  dar  wuz  Brer  Babbit  hol’in’  on  ter  de  cow- 
tail,  fer  ter  keep  it  fum  gwine  in  de  groun’.  Brer 
Wolf,  he  kotch  holt,  en  dey  ’gin  a pull  er  two  en  up 
come  de  tail.  Den  Brer  Babbit,  he  wink  his  off  eye 
en  say,  sezee  : 

“ ‘ Dar ! de  tail  done  pull  out  en  de  cow  gone,’ 
sezee. 

“ But  Brer  Wolf  he  wer’n’t  de  man  fer  ter  give  it 
up  dat  away,  en  he  got  ’irn  a spade,  en  a pick-axe,  en  a 
shovel,  en  he  dig  en  dig  fer  dat  cow  twel  diggin’  wuz 
pas’  all  endu’unce,  en  ole  Brer  Babbit  he  sot  up  dar  in 
his  front  po’ch  en  smoke  his  seegyar.  Eve’y  time  ole 


MR.  RABBIT  MEETS  HIS  MATCH  AGAIN.  103 


Brer  Wolf  stuck  de  pick-axe  in  de  clay,  Brer  Rabbit, 
he  giggle  ter  liis  cliilluns  : 

“ ‘ He  diggy,  diggy,  diggy,  but  no  meat  dar  ! He 
diggy,  diggy,  diggy,  but  no  meat  dar  ! ’ 

“ Kase  all  de  time  de  cow  wuz  layin’  pile  up  in  his 
smoke-’ouse,  en  him  en  his  chilluns  wuz  eatin’  fried 
beef  en  inguns  eve’y  time  dey  rnouf  water. 

“ How  den,  honey,  you  take  dis  yer  w’ip,”  con- 
tinued the  old  man,  twining  the  leather  thong  around 
the  little  boy’s  neck,  “ en  scamper  up  ter  de  big  ’ouse 
en  tell  Miss  Sally  fer  ter  gin  you  some  un  it  de  nex’ 
time  she  fine  yo’  tracks  in  de  sugar-bairl.” 


XXI. 

MR.  RABBIT  MEETS  HIS  MATCH  AGAIN. 

“ Dere  wuz  nudder  man  dat  sorter  play  it  sharp  on 
Brer  Rabbit,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  as,  by  some  myste- 
rious process,  he  twisted  a hog’s  bristle  into  the  end  of 
a piece  of  thread — an  operation  which  the  little  boy 
watched  with  great  interest.  “ In  dem  days,”  con- 
tinued the  old  man,  “ de  creeturs  kyar’d  on  mar  ter  s 
same  ez  fokes.  Dey  went  inter  fahmin’,  en  I speck  ef 
de  troof  wuz  ter  come  out,  dey  kep’  sto’,  en  had  der 
camp-meetin’  times  en  der  bobbycues  w’en  de  wedder 
wuz  ’greeble.” 

Uncle  Remus  evidently  thought  that  the  little  boy 


104  LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

wouldn’t  like  to  hear  of  any  further  discomfiture  of 
Brer  Babbit,  who  had  come  to  be  a sort  of  hero,  and 
he  was  not  mistaken. 

“ I thought  the  Terrapin  was  the  only  one  that 
fooled  the  Babbit,”  said  the  little  boy,  dismally. 

“ Hit’s  des  like  I tell  you,  honey.  Dey  ain’t  no 
smart  man,  ’cep’  w’at  dey’s  a smarter.  Ef  ole  Brer 
Babbit  hadn’t  er  got  kotch  up  wid,  de  nabers  ’ud  er 
took  ’im  for  a li’ant,  en  in  dem  times  dey  bu’nt 
witches  ’fo’  you  could  squinch  yo’  eyeballs.  Dey  did 
dat.” 

“ Who  fooled  the  Babbit  this  time  ? ” the  little  boy 
asked. 

When  Uncle  Bemus  had  the  bristle  “ sot  ” in  the 
thread,  he  proceeded  with  the  story  : 

“ One  time  Brer  Babbit  en  ole  Brer  Buzzard 
’eluded  dey’d  sorter  go  snacks,  en  crap  tergedder.  Hit 
wuz  a mighty  good  year,  en  de  truck  tu’n  out  monstus 
well,  but  bimeby,  w’en  de  time  come  fer  dividjun,  hit 
come  ter  light  dat  ole  Brer  Buzzard  ain’t  got  nuthin’. 
De  crap  wuz  all  gone,  en  dey  want  nuthin’  dar  fer  ter 
show  fer  it.  Brer  Babbit,  he  make  like  he  in  a wuss 
fix’n  Brer  Buzzard,  en  he  mope  ’roun’,  he  did,  like  he 
fear’d  dey  gwineter  sell  ’im  out. 

“ Brer  Buzzard,  he  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’,  but  he  keep 
up  a monstus  thinkin’,  en  one  day  he  come  ’long  en 
holler  en  tell  Brer  Babbit  dat  he  done  fine  rich  gole- 
mine  des  ’cross  de  river. 


MR.  RABBIT  MEETS  HIS  MATCH  AGAIN.  105 


“ 1 You  come  en  go  ’longer  me,  Brer  Rabbit,’  sez 
Brer  Tukky  Buzzard,  sezee.  ‘ I’ll  scratch  en  you  kin 
grabble,  en  ’tween  de  two  un  us  we’ll  make 

short  wuk  er  dat  gole-mine,’  mm  sezee. 


- mcz, 


“ Brer  Rabbit, 
he  wuz  high  up 
fer  de  job,  but 
he  study  en 
study,  he  did, 
V v how  he  gwineter  git 

’cross  de  water,  kaze  ev’y  time  he  git  his  foot  wet  all 
de  fambly  kotch  cole.  Den  he  up’n  ax  Brer  Buzzard 
how  he  gwine  do,  en  Brer  Buzzard  he  up’n  say  dat 
he  kyar  Brer  Rabbit  ’cross,  en  wid  dat  ole  Brer  Buz- 
zard, he  squot  down,  he  did,  en  spread  his  wings,  en 
Brer  Rabbit,  he  mounted,  en  up  dey  riz.”  There  was 
a pause. 

“ What  did  the  Buzzard  do  then  ? ” asked  the 
little  boy. 

“ Dey  riz,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  “ en  w’en  dey 

lit,  dey  lit  in  de  top  er  de  highest  sorter  pine,  en  de 

9 


106 


LEGENDS  OF  TI1E  OLD  PLANTATION. 


pine  w’at  dey  lit  in  wuz  growin’  on  er  ilun,  en  de  ilun 
wuz  in  de  middle  er  de  river,  wid  de  deep  water 
runnin’  all  ’roun’.  Dey  ain’t 
mo’n  lit  ’fo’  Brer  Babbit,  he 
know  w’icli  way  de  win’  ’uz 
blowin’,  en  by  de  time  ole  Brer 
Buzzard  got  liisse’f  ballunce  on 
a lim’,  Brer  Babbit,  he 
up’n  say,  sezee: 

“ 1 W’iles  we  er  res’n 
here,  Brer  Buzzard,  en 
bein’s  you  bin  so  good,  I 
got  sump’n  fer  ter  tell  you,’ 
sezee.  6 1 got  a gole-mine  er 
my  own,  one  w’at  I make  my- 
se’f,  en  I speck  we  better  go  back  ter  mine  ’fo’  we 
bodder  ’longer  yone,’  sezee. 

“ Den  ole  Brer  Buzzard,  he  laff,  he  did,  twel  he 
shake,  en  Brer  Babbit,  he  sing  out : 

“ ‘ Hole  on,  Brer  Buzzard  ! Don’t  flop  yo’  wings 
w’en  you  laff,  kaze  den  ef  you  duz,  sump’n  ’ill  drap 
fum  up  yer,  en  my  gole-mine  won’t  do  you  no  good, 
en  needer  will  yone  do  me  no  good.’ 

“ But  ’fo’  dey  got  down  fum  dar,  Brer  Babbit 
done  tole  all  ’bout  de  crap,  en  he  hatter  promus  fer 
ter  ’vide  fa’r  en  squar  So  Brer  Buzzard,  he  kyar  ’im 
back,  en  Brer  Babbit  he  walk  weak  in  de  knees  a 
mont’  atterwuds.” 


A STORY  ABOUT  THE  LITTLE  RABBITS.  107 


XXII. 

A STORY  ABOUT  THE  LITTLE  RABBITS. 

“ Fine  urn  whar  you  will  en  w’en  you  may,”  re- 
marked Uncle  Remus  witli  emphasis,  “ good  chilluns 
allers  gits  tuck  keer  on.  Dar  wuz  Brer  Rabbit’s 
chilluns ; dey  minded  der  daddy  en  mammy  fum  day’s 
een’  ter  day’s  een’.  W’en  ole  man  Rabbit  say  ‘ scoot,’ 
dey  scooted,  en  w’en  ole  Miss  Rabbit  say  ‘ scat,’  dey 
scatted.  Dey  did  dat.  En  dey  kep  der  cloze  clean, 
en  dey  ain’t  had  no  smut  on  der  nose  nudder.” 

Involuntarily  the  hand  of  the  little  boy  went  up  to 
his  face,  and  he  scrubbed  the  end  of  his  nose  with  his 
coat-sleeve. 

“ Dey  wuz  good  chilluns,”  continued  the  old  man, 
heartily,  “ en  ef  dey  hadn’t  er  bin,  der  wuz  one  time 
w’en  dey  wouldn’t  er  bin  no  little  rabbits — na’er  one. 
Dat’s  w’at.” 

“What  time  was  that,  Uncle  Remus?”  the  little 
boy  asked. 

“ De  time  w’en  Brer  Fox  drapt  in  at  Brer  Rabbit 
house,  en  didn’t  foun’  nobody  dar  ceppin’  de  little 
Rabbits.  Ole  Brer  Rabbit,  he  wuz  off  some’rs  raiding 
on  a collard  patch,  en  ole  Miss  Rabbit  she  wuz  tendin’ 
on  a quiltin’  in  de  naberhood,  en  wiles  de  little  Rabbits 
wuz  playin’  hidin’-switch,  in  drapt  Brer  Fox.  De  lit- 
tle Rabbits  wuz  so  fat  dat  dey  fa’rly  make  his  mouf 


108 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


water,  but  lie  ’member  ’bout  Brer  Wolf,  en  he  skeered 
fer  ter  gobble  um  up  ceppin’  lie  got  some  skuse.  De 

little  Babbits,  dey 
fit*  mighty  skittish,  en 
dey  sorter  huddle 
deyse’f  up  ter- 
gedder  en  watch 
Brer  Fox  mo- 
tions. Brer 
Fox,  he  sot 
dar  en  study 
w’at  sorter  skuse  he 
gwineter  make  up. 
Bimeby  he  see  a great  big 
stalk  er  sugar-cane  stan’in’  up  in  de  cornder,  en  he  cle’r 
up  his  th’oat  en  talk  biggity : 

“ ‘ Yer ! you  young  Babs  dar,  sail  ’roun’  yer  en 
broke  me  a piece  er  dat  sweetnin’-tree,’  sezee,  en  den 
he  koff. 

“ De  little  Babbits,  dey  got  out  de  sugar-cane,  dey 
did,  en  dey  rastle  wid  it,  en  sweat  over  it,  but  twan’t 
no  use.  Dey  couldn’t  broke  it.  Brer  Fox,  he  make 
like  he  ain’t  watchin’,  but  he  keep  on  holler’n  : 

“ ‘ Hurry  up  dar,  Babs  ! I’m  a waitin’  on  you.’ 

“ En  de  little  Babbits,  dey  hustle  ’roun’  en  rastle 
wid  it,  but  dey  couldn’t  broke  it.  Bimeby  dey  hear 
little  bird  singin’  on  top  er  de  house,  en  de  song  w’at 
de  little  bird  sing  wuz  dish  yer : 


A STORY  ABOUT  THE  LITTLE  RABBITS.  109 


“ ‘ Take  yo’  toofieg'  en  gnyaw  it, 

Take  yo’  toofies  en  saw  it, 

Saw  it  en  yoke  it, 

En  den  you  kin  broke  it.’ 

Den  de  little  Rabbits,  dey  git  mighty  glad,  en 
dey  gnyawed  de  cane  mos’  ’fo’  ole  Brer  Fox  could  git 
his  legs  oncrosst,  en  w’en  dey  kyard  ’im  de  cane,  Brer 
Fox,  he  sot  dar  en  study  how  he  gwineter  make  some 
mo’  skuse  fer  nabbin’  un  um,  en  bimeby  he  git  up  en 
git  down  de  sifter  w’at  wuz  hangin’  on  de  wall,  en 
holler  out : 

“ ‘ Come  yer,  Rabs  ! Take  dish  yer  sifter,  en  run 
down’t  de  spring  en  fetch  me  some  fresh  water.’ 

“ De  little  Rabbits,  dey  run  down’t  de  spring,  en 
try  ter  dip  up  de  water  wid  de  sifter,  but  co’se  hit  all 
run  out,  en  hit  keep  on  runnin’  out,  twell  bimeby  de 
little  Rabbits  sot  down  en  ’gun  ter  cry.  Den  de  little 
bird  settin’  up  in  de  tree  he  begin  fer  ter  sing,  en  dish 
yer’s  de  song  w’at  he  sing  : 

“ ‘ Sifter  hole  water  same  ez  a tray, 

Ef  you  fill  it  wid  moss  en  dob  it  wid  clay  ; 

De  Fox  git  madder  de  longer  you  stay — 

Fill  it  wid  moss  en  dob  it  wid  clay.’ 

“ Up  dey  jump,  de  little  Rabbits  did,  en  dey  fix  de 
sifter  so  ’twon’t  leak,  en  den  dey  kyar  de  water  ter  ole 
Brer  Fox.  Den  Brer  Fox  he  git  mighty  mad,  en 
p’int  out  a great  big  stick  er  wood,  en  tell  de  little 
Rabbits  fer  ter  put  dat,  on  de  fier.  De  little  chaps  dey 
got  ’roun’  de  wood,  dey  did,  en  dey  lif’  at  it  so  hard 


110  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


twel  dey  could  see  der  own  sins, 


“ ‘ Spit  in  yo’  han’s  en  tug  it  en  toll  it, 

En  git  behine  it,  en  push  it,  en  pole  it ; 
Spit  in  yo’  han’s  en  r’ar  back  en  roll  it.’ 


“ En  des  ’bout  de  time  dey  got  de  wood  on  de  fier, 
der  daddy,  lie  come  skippin’  in,  en  de  little  bird,  he 
flew’d  away.  Brer  Fox,  he  seed  his  game  wuz  up,  en 
’twan’t  long  ’fo’  he  make  his  skuse  en  start  fer  ter  go. 

“ ‘ You  better  stay  en  take  a snack  wid  me,  Brer 
Fox,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee.  £ Sence  Brer  Wolf  done 
quit  cornin’  en  settin’  up  wid  me,  I gittin’  so  I feels 
right  lonesome  dese  long  nights,’  sezee. 

“But  Brer  Fox,  he  button  up  his  coat-collar  tight 
en  des  put  out  fer  home.  En  dat  w’at  you  better  do, 
honey,  kaze  I see  Miss  Sally’s  shadder  sailin’  backerds 
en  for’ds  ’fo’  de  winder,  en  de  fus’  news  you  know 
she’ll  be  spectin’  un  you.” 


MR.  RABBIT  AND  MR.  BEAR. 


Ill 


XXIII. 

MR.  RABBIT  AND  MR.  BEAR. 

“ Dar  wuz  one  season,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  pulling 
thoughtfully  at  his  whiskers,  “ w’en  Brer  Fox  say  to 
hisse’f  dat  he  speck  he  better  whirl  in  en  plant  a 
goober-patch,  en  in  dem  days,  mon,  hit  wuz  tech  en 
go.  De  wud  wern’t  mo’n  out’n  his  mouf  ’fo’  de 
groun’  ’uz  brok’d  up  en  de  goobers  ’uz  planted.  Ole 
Brer  Rabbit,  he  sot  off  en  watch  de  motions,  he  did, 
en  he  sorter  shet  one  eye  en  sing  to  his  chilluns  : 

“ ‘ Ti-yi ! Tungaleel 

I eat  um  pea,  I pick  um  pea. 

Hit  grow  in  de  groun’,  hit  grow  so  free ; 

Ti-yi ! dem  goober  pea.’ 

“ Slio’  ’nuff  w’en  de  goobers  ’gun  ter  ripen  up, 
eve’y  time  Brer  Fox  go  down  ter  his  patch,  he  fine 
whar  somebody  bin  grabblin’  ’mongst  de  vines,  en  he 
git  mighty  mad.  He  sorter  speck  who  de  somebody 
is,  but  ole  Brer  Rabbit  he  cover  his  tracks  so  cute  dat 
Brer  Fox  dunner  how  ter  ketch  ’im.  Bimeby,  one 
day  Brer  Fox  take  a walk  all  roun’  de  groun’-pea 
patch,  en  ’twan’t  long  ’fo’  he  fine  a crack  in  de  fence 
whar  de  rail  done  bin  rub  right  smoove,  en  right  dar 
he  sot  ’im  a trap.  He  tuck’n  ben’  down  a hick’ry 
saplin’,  growin’  in  de  fence-cornder,  en  tie  one  een’  un 


112 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


a plow-line  on  de  top,  en  in  de  udder  een’  he  fix  a 
loop-knot,  en  dat  he  fasten  wid  a trigger  right  in  de 
crack.  Nex’  mawnin’  w’en  ole  Brer  Babbit  come  slip- 


pin’  ’long 
knot  kotch 
lin’  flew’d 
en  de  yeth. 


•'  - - ■ * 


en  crope  tlioo  de  crack,  de  loop- 
’im  behime  de  fo’  legs,  en  de  sap- 
up,  en  dar  he  wuz  ’twix’  de  heavens 
Dar  he  swung,  en  he  fear’d  he 
gwineter  fall,  en  he  fear’d 
he  wer’n’t  gwineter  fall. 


W’ile  he  wuz  a fixin’  up  a 
tale  fer  Brer  Fox,  he  hear  a 
lumberin’  down  de  road,  en 
present’y  yer  cum  ole  Brer  B’ar 
amblin’  ’long  fum  whar  he  bin  takin’  a bee-tree.  Brer 
Babbit,  he  hail  ’im  : 

“ ‘ Howdy,  Brer  B’ar  ! ’ 

“ Brer  B’ar,  he  look  ’roun  en  bimeby  he  see  Brer 
Babbit  swingin’  fum  de  saplin’,  en  he  holler  out ; 


113 


MR.  RABBIT  AND  MR.  BEAR.  < 

“ i Heyo,  Brer  Rabbit ! How  you  come  on  dis 
mawnin’  ? 5 

“ 6 Much  oblije,  I’m  middlin’,  Brer  B’ar,’  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  B’ar,  he  ax  Brer  Rabbit  w’at  he  doin’ 
up  dar  in  de  elements,  en  Brer  Rabbit,  he  up’n  say  he 
makin’  dollar  minnit.  Brer  B’ar,  he  say  how.  Brer 
Rabbit  say  he  keepin’  crows  out’n  Brer  Fox’s  groun’- 
pea  patch,  en  den  he  ax  Brer  B’ar  ef  he  don’t  wanter 
make  dollar  minnit,  kaze  he  got  big  fambly  er  chilluns 
fer  ter  take  keer  un,  en  den  he  make  sech  nice  skeer- 
crow.  Brer  B’ar  ’low  dat  he  take  de  job,  en  den  Brer 
Rabbit  show  ’im  how  ter  ben’  down  de  saplin’,  en 
’twan’t  long  ’fo’  Brer  B’ar  wuz  swingin’  up  dar  in 
Brer  Rabbit  place.  Den  Brer  Rabbit,  he  put  out  fer 
Brer  Fox  house,  en  w’en  he  got  dar  he  sing  out : 

“ ‘ Brer  Fox!  Oh,  Brer  Fox!  Come  out  yer, 
Brer  Fox,  en  I’ll  show  you  de  man  w’at  bin  stealin’  yo’ 
goobers.’ 

u Brer  Fox,  he  grab  up  his  walkin’-stick,  en  bofe 
un  um  went  runnin’  back  down  ter  der  goober-patch, 
en  w’en  dey  got  dar,  slio  ’nuff,  dar  wuz  ole  Brer 
B’ar. 

Oh,  yes  ! youer  kotch,  is  you  ? ’ sez  Brer  Fox, 
en  ’fo’  Brer  B’ar  could  ’splain,  Brer  Rabbit  he  jump 
up  en  down,  en  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Hit  ’im  in  de  mouf,  Brer  Fox ; hit  ’im  in  de 
mouf’;  en  Brer  Fox,  he  draw  back  wid  de  walkin’- 


114 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


cane,  en  blip  lie  tuck  ’im,  en  eve’y  time  Brer  B’ar’d  try 
ter  ’splain,  Brer  Fox’d  sliower  down  on  him. 

“ W’iles  all  dis  ’uz  gwine  on,  Brer  Babbit,  he  slip 
off  en  git  in  a mud-hole  en  des  lef’  his  eyes  stickin’ 
out,  kaze  he  know’d  dat  Brer  B’ar’d  be  a cornin’  atter 


’im.  Sho  ’nuff,  bimeby  here  come  Brer  B’ar  down  de 
road,  en  w’en  he  git  ter  de  mud-hole,  he  say  : 

“ ‘ Howdy,  Brer  Frog  ; is  you  seed  Brer  Babbit  go 
by  yer  ? ’ 

“ ‘ He  des  gone  by,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  en  ole  man 


MR.  BEAR  CATCHES  OLD  MR.  BULL-FROG.  H5 

B’ar  tuck  off  down  de  road  like  a skeer’d  mule,  en 
Brer  Babbit,  lie  come  out  en  dry  liisse’f  in  de  sun,  en 
go  borne  ter  his  fambly  same  ez  enny  udder  man.” 

“ The  Bear  didn’t  catch  the  Babbit,  then  ? ” in- 
quired the  little  boy,  sleepily. 

“ Jump  up  fum  dar,  honey ! ” exclaimed  Uncle 
Bemus,  by  way  of  reply.  “ I ain’t  got  no  time  fer  ter 
be  settin’  yer  proppin’  yo’  eyeleds  open.” 


XXIY. 

MR.  BEAR  CATCHES  OLD  MR.  BULL-FROG. 

“Well,  Uncle  Bemus,”  said  the  little  boy,  count- 
ing to  see  if  he  hadn’t  lost  a marble  somewhere,  “ the 
Bear  didn’t  catch  the  Babbit  after  all,  did  he  ? ” 

“ Now  you  talkin’,  honey,”  replied  the  old  man, 
his  earnest  face  breaking  up  into  little  eddies  of  smiles 
— “ now  you  talkin’  sho.  ’Tain’t  bin  proned  inter  no 
Brer  B’ar  fer  ter  kotcli  Brer  Babbit.  Hit  sorter  like 
settin’  a mule  fer  ter  trap  a hummin’-bird.  But  Brer 
B’ar,  he  tuck’n  got  hisse’f  inter  some  mo’  trubble, 
w’ich  it  look  like  it  mighty  easy.  Ef  folks  could  make 
der  livin’  longer  gittin’  inter  trubble,”  continued  the 
old  man,  looking  curiously  at  the  little  boy,  “ ole  Miss 
Eavers  wouldn’t  be  bodder’n  yo’  ma  fer  ter  borry  a 
cup  full  er  sugar  eve’y  now  en  den  ; en  it  look  like  ter 
me  dat  I knows  a nigger  dat  wouldn’t  be  squattin’ 
’roun’  yer  makin’  dese  yer  fish-baskits.” 


116 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ How  did  the  Bear  get  into  more  trouble,  Uncle 
Remus  ? ” asked  the  little  boy. 

“ Hatchul,  honey.  Brer  B’ar,  he  tuck  a notion  dat 
ole  Brer  Bull-frog  wuz  de  man  wa’t  fool  ’im,  en  he 
say  dat  he’d  come  up  wid  ’im  ef  ’twuz  a year  after- 
wuds.  But  ’twan’t  no  year,  an  ’twan’t  no  mont’,  en 
mo’n  dat,  hit  wan’t  skasely  a week,  w’en 
bimeby  one  day  Brer  B’ar  wuz  gwine  home 
fum  de  takin’  un  a bee-tree,  en  lo  en 
beholes,  who  si 
he  see  but  ole 
Bull-frog  settin’ 
on  de  aidge  er 
de  mud  - puddle 
fas’  ’sleep ! Brer 
B’ar  drap  his 
axe,  he  did,  en 
crope  up,  en 
retch  out  wid  his 
paw,  en  scoop  ole 
Brer  Bull -frog  i 
des  dis  away.”  He 
the  old  man  used 
hand  ladle-fashion,  by 

way  of  illustration.  “ He  scoop  ’im  in,  en  dar  he 
wuz.  W’en  Brer  B’ar  got  his  clampers  on  ’im  good, 
he  sot  down  en  talk  at  ’im. 

“ ‘ Howdy,  Brer  Bull-frog,  howdy  ! En  how  yo’ 


ME.  BEAR  CATCHES  OLD  MR.  BULL-PROG.  117 


fambly  ? I hope  deyer  well,  Brer  Bull-frog,  kaze  dis 
day  you  got  some  bizness  wid  me  w’at’ll  las’  you  a 
mighty  long  time/ 

“ Brer  Bull-frog,  he  dunner  w’at  ter  say.  He 
dunner  wat’s  up,  en  he  don’t  say  nuthin’.  Ole  Brer 
B’ar  he  keep  runnin’  on  : 

“ ‘ Youer  de  man  w’at  tuck  en  fool  me  ’bout  Brer 
Rabbit  t’er  day.  You  had  yo’  fun,  Brer  Bull-frog,  en 
now  I’ll  git  mine.’ 

“ Den  Brer  Bull-frog,  he  gin  ter  git  skeerd,  he  did, 
en  he  up’n  say  : 

“ ‘ W’at  I bin  doin’,  Brer  B’ar  ? How  I bin  foolin’ 
you  ? ’ 

“ Den  Brer  B’ar  laff,  en  make  like  he  dunno,  but 
he  keep  on  talkin’. 

“ 4 Oh,  no,  Brer  Bull-frog  ! You  ain’t  de  man  w’at 
stick  yo’  head  up  out’n  de  water  en  tell  me  Brer  Rab- 
bit done  gone  on  by.  Oh,  no  ! you  ain’t  de  man.  I 
boun’  you  ain’t.  ’Bout  dat  time,  you  wuz  at  home 
with  yo’  fambly,  wliar  you  allers  is.  I dunner  whar 
you  wuz,  but  I knows  whar  you  is,  Brer  Bull-frog,  en 
hit’s  you  en  me  fer  it.  Atter  de  sun  goes  down  dis 
day  you  don’t  fool  no  mo’  folks  gwine  ’long  dis  road.’ 

“ Co’se,  Brer  Bull-frog  dunner  w’at  Brer  B’ar 
drivin’  at,  but  he  know  sump’n  hatter  be  done,  en  dat 
mighty  soon,  kaze  Brer  B’ar  ’gun  to  snap  his  jaws  ter- 
gedder  en  foam  at  de  mouf,  en  Brer  Bull-frog  holler 
out : 


118  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

“ ‘ Oli,  pray,  Brer  B’ar  ! Lemme  off  dis  time,  en  I 
won’t  never  do  so  no  mo’.  Oh,  pray,  Brer  B’ar ! do 
lemme  off  dis  time,  en  I’ll  show  yon  de  fattes’  bee- 
tree  in  de  woods.’ 

“ Ole  Brer  B’ar,  he  chomp  his  toofies  en  foam  at 
de  mouf.  Brer  Bull-frog  he  des  up’n  squall : 

“ ‘ Oh,  pray,  Brer  B’ar  ! I won’t  never  do  so  no 
mo’  ! Oh,  pray,  Brer  B’ar  ! Lemme  off  dis  time  ! ’ 

“ But  ole  Brer  B’ar  say  he  gwineter  make  way  wid 
’im,  en  den  he  sot  en  study,  ole  Brer  B’ar  did,  how  he 
gwineter  squencli  Brer  Bull-frog.  He  know  he  can’t 
drown  ’im,  en  he  ain’t  got  no  tier  fer  ter  bu’n  ’im,  en 
he  git  mighty  pestered.  Bimeby  ole  Brer  Bull-frog, 
he  sorter  stop  his  cryin’  en  his  boo-hooin’,  en  he  up’n 
say: 

“ ‘ Ef  you  gwineter  kill  me,  Brer  B’ar,  kyar  me  ter 
dat  big  flat  rock  out  dar  on  de  aidge  er  de  mill-pon’, 
whar  I kin  see  my  fambly,  en  atter  I see  um,  den  you 
kin  take  you  axe  en  squsli  me.’ 

“ Dis  look  so  fa’r  and  squar’  dat  Brer  B’ar  he  ’gree, 
en  he  take  ole  Brer  Bull-frog  by  wunner  his  behime 
legs,  en  sling  his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  en  off  he  put  fer 
de  big  flat  rock.  When  he  git  dar  he  lay  Brer  Bull- 
frog down  on  de  rock,  en  Brer  Bull-frog  make  like  he 
lookin’  ’roun’  fer  his  folks.  Den  Brer  B’ar,  he  draw 
long  breff  en  pick  up  his  axe.  Den  he  spit  in  his 
ban’s  en  draw  back  en  come  down  on  de  rock — 


MR.  BEAR  CATCHES  OLD  MR.  BULL-FROG.  HQ 


“ Did  he  kill  the  Frog,  Uncle  Remus?”  asked  the 
little  boy,  as  the  old  man  paused  to  scoop  up  a thimble- 
ful of  glowing  embers  in  his  pipe. 

“ ’Deed,  en  dat  he  didn’t,  honey.  ’Twix’  de  time 
w’en  Brer  B’ar  raise  up  wid  his  axe  en  w’en  he  come 


down  wid  it,  ole  Brer  Bull-frog  he  lipt  up  en  dove 
down  in  de  mill-pon’,  kerblink-kerblunk  ! En  w’en  he 
riz  way  out  in  de  pon’  he  riz  a singin’,  en  dish  yer’s  de 
song  w’at  he  sing  : 

“ ‘ Ingle-go-jang,  my  joy,  my  joy— 

Ingle-go-jang,  my  joy  ! 

I’m  right  at  home,  my  joy,  my  joy — 

Ingle-go-jang,  my  joy  ! ’ ” 

“ That’s  a mighty  funny  song,”  said  the  little  boy. 

“Funny  now,  I speck,”  said  the  old  man,  “but 
’twern’t  funny  in  dem  days,  en  ’twouldn’t  be  funny 
now  ef  folks  know’d  much  ’bout  de  Bull-frog  lang- 
widge  ez  dey  useter.  Dat’s  w’at.” 


120 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


XXV. 

now  MR.  RABBIT  LOST  HIS  FINE  BUSHY  TAIL. 

“ One  time,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  sighing  heavily 
and  settling  himself  back  in  his  seat  with  an  air  of 
melancholy  resignation — “ one  time  Brer  Rabbit  wuz 
gwine  ’long  down  de  road  shakin’  his  big  bushy  tail, 
en  feelin’  des  ez  scrumpshus  ez  a bee-martin  wia  a 
fresh  bug.”  Here  the  old  man  paused  and  glanced  at 
the  little  boy,  but  it  was  evident  that  the  youngster 
had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  marvelous  develop- 
ments of  Uncle  Remus’s  stories,  that  the  extraordinary 
statement  made  no  unusual  impression  upon  him. 
Therefore  the  old  man  began  again,  and  this  time  in  a 
louder  and  more  insinuating  tone  : 

“ One  time  ole  man  Rabbit,  he  wuz  gwine  ’long 
down  de  road  shakin’  his  long,  bushy  tail,  en  feelin’ 
mighty  biggity.” 

This  was  effective. 

“ Great  goodness,  Uncle  Remus  ! ” exclaimed  the 
little  boy  in  open-eyed  wonder,  “ everybody  knows 
that  rabbits  haven’t  got  long,  bushy  tails.” 

The  old  man  shifted  his  position  in  his  chair  and 
allowed  his  venerable  head  to  drop  forward  until  his 
whole  appearance  was  suggestive  of  the  deepest  de- 
jection ; and  this  was  intensified  by  a groan  that 
seemed  to  be  the  result  of  great  mental  agony.  Final- 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  LOST  HIS  FINE  BUSHY  TAIL.  121 

ly  he  spoke,  but  not  as  addressing  himself  to  the  little  > 

boy. 

“ I notices  dat  dem  fokes  w’at  makes  a great  ’mira- 
tion ’bout  w’at  dey  knows  is  des  de  fokes  w’ich  you 
can’t  put  no  ’pennunce  in  w’en  de 
’casliun  come  up.  Yer  one  un  um 
now,  en  he  done  come  en  excuse  me 
er  ’lowin’  dat  rabbits  is 
got  long,  bushy  tails, 
w’ich  goodness  knows 
ef  I’d  a dremp’  it,  I’d 
a whirl  in  en  on  dremp 
it.” 

“ Well,  but  Uncle  Ke- 
mus,  you  said  rabbits  had 
long,  bushy  tails,”  replied  the 
little  boy.  “ Now  you  know 
you  did.” 

“ Ef  I ain’t  fergit  it  off’n 
my  mine,  I say  dat  ole  Brer 

Rabbit  wuz  gwine  down  de  big  road  shakin’  his  long, 
bushy  tail.  Dat  w’at  I say,  en  dat  I stan’s  by.” 

The  little  boy  looked  puzzled,  but  he  didn’t  say 
anything.  After  a while  the  old  man  continued  : 

“ Now,  den,  ef  dat’s  ’greed  ter,  I’m  gwine  on,  en 
ef  tain’t  ’greed  ter,  den  I’m  gwineter  pick  up  my  cane 
en  look  atter  my  own  intrust.  I got  wuk  lyin’  roun’ 

yer  dat’s  des  natally  gittin’  moldy.” 

10 


122 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


The  little  boy  still  remained  quiet,  and  Uncle  Re- 
mus proceeded  : 

“ One  day  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  gwine  down  de  road 
shakin’  his  long,  bushy  tail, 
w’en  who  should  he  strike  up 
wid  but  ole  Brer  Fox  gwine 
amblin’  long  wid  a big  string 
er  fish ! W’en  dey  pass  de 
time  er  day  wid 
wunner  nudder, 
Brer  Rabbit,  he 
open  up  de  con- 
fab, he  did, 
en  he  ax 
Brer  Fox 
whar  he 
git  dat 


nice  string  er  fish,  en 
Brer  Fox,  he  up’n  ’spon’ 
dat  he  kotch  um,  en  Brer  Rabbit,  he  say  whar  bouts, 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  LOST  HIS  FINE  BUSHY  TAIL.  123 

en  Brer  Fox,  lie  say  down  at  de  babtizin’  creek,  en 
Brer  Babbit  be  ax  liow,  kaze  in  dem  days  dey  wuz 
monstus  fon’  er  minners,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  sot  down 
on  a log,  he  did,  en  he  up’n  tell  Brer  Babbit  dat  all 
he  gotter  do  fer  ter  git  er  big  mess  er  minners  is 
ter  go  ter  de  creek  atter  sun  down,  en  drap  his  tail 
in  de  water  en  set  dar  twel  day-light,  en  den  draw  up 
a whole  armful  er  fishes,  en  dem  w’at  he  don’t  want, 
he  kin  fling  back.  Bight  dar’s  whar  Brer  Babbit 
drap  his  watermillion,  kaze  he  tuck’n  sot  out  dat 
night  en  wTent  a fishin’.  De  wedder  wuz  sorter  cole, 
en  Brer  Babbit,  he  got  ’im  a bottle  er  dram  en  put 
out  fer  de  creek,  en  w’en  he  git  dar  he  pick  out  a 
good  place,  en  he  sorter  squot  down,  he  did,  en  let 
his  tail  hang  in  de  water.  He  sot  dar,  en  he  sot  dar, 
en  he  drunk  his  dram,  en  he  think  he  gwineter  freeze, 
but  bimeby  day  come,  en  dar  he  wuz.  Fie  make  a 
pull,  en  he  feel  like  he  cornin’  in  two,  en  he  fetch 
nudder  jerk,  en  lo  en  belioles,  whar  wuz  his  tail  ? ” 

There  was  a long  pause. 

“ Did  it  come  off,  Uncle  Bemus  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy,  presently. 

“ She  did  dat ! ” replied  the  old  man  with  unction. 
“ She  did  dat,  and  dat  w’at  make  all  deze  yer  bob-tail 
rabbits  w’at  you  see  hoppin’  en  skaddlin’  thoo  de 
woods.” 

“ Are  they  all  that  way  just  because  the  old  Babbit 
lost  his  tail  in  the  creek  ? ” asked  the  little  boy. 


124 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Dat’s  it,  honey,”  replied  the  old  man.  “ Dat’s 
w’at  dey  tells  me.  Look  like  dey  er  bleedzd  ter  take 
atter  der  pa.” 


XXYI. 

MR.  TERRAPIN  SHOWS  HIS  STRENGTH. 

“ Brer  Tarrypin  wnz  de  out'nes’  man,”  said  Uncle 
Bemus,  rubbing  his  hands  together  contemplatively, 
and  chuckling  to  himself  in  a very  significant  man- 
ner ; “ he  wuz  de  out’nes’  man  er  de  whole  gang.  He 
wuz  dat.” 

The  little  boy  sat  perfectly  quiet,  betraying  no  im- 
patience when  Uncle  Bemus  paused  to  hunt,  first  in 
one  pocket  and  then  in  another,  for  enough  crumbs  of 
tobacco  to  replenish  his  pipe.  Presently  the  old  man 
proceeded : 

“ One  night  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  dey  gun  a 
candy-pullin’,  en  so  many  er  de  nabers  come  in  ’sponse 
ter  de  invite  dat  dey  hatter  put  de  ’lasses  in  de  wash 
pot  en  b’il’  de  fier  in  de  yard.  Brer  B’ar,  he  hope  * 
Miss  Meadows  bring  de  wood,  Brer  Fox,  he  men’  de 
fier,  Brer  Wolf,  he  kep’  de  dogs  off,  Brer  Babbit,  he 
grease  de  bottom  er  de  plates  fer  ter  keep  de  candy 
fum  stickin’,  en  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  klum.  up  in  a cheer, 


* Holp ; helped. 


MR.  TERRAPIN  SHOWS  HIS  STRENGTH.  125 


en  say  he’d  watch  en  see  dat  de  ’lasses  didn’t  bile 
over.  Dey  wuz  all  dere,  en  dey  wern’t  cuttin’  up  no 
didos,  nudder,  kaze  Miss  Meadows,  she  done  put  her 
foot  down,  she  did,  en  say  dat  w’en  dey  come  ter  her 
place  dey  hatter  hang  up  a flag  er  truce  at  de  front 
gate  en  ’bide  by  it. 

“Well,  den,  w’iles  dey  wuz  all  a settin’  dar  en  de 
’lasses  wuz  a bilin’  en  a blubberin’,  dey  got  ter  runnin’ 
on  talkin’  mighty  biggity.  Brer  Rabbit,  be  say  be  de 


swiffes’ ; but  Brer  Tarrypin,  be 


de  sharpes’,  but  Brer  Tarrypin  he  rock  ’long.  Brer 
Wolf,  de  say  be  de  mos’  suvvigus,  but  Brer  Tarrypin, 


126 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


he  rock  en  he  rock  ’long.  Brer  B’ar,  he  say  he  de 
mos’  stronges’,  but  Brer  Tarrypin  he  rock,  en  he  keep 
on  rockin’.  Bimeby  he  sorter  shet  one  eye,  en  say, 
sezee  : 

44  4 Hit  look  like  ’periently  dat  de  ole  hardshell  ain’t 
nowhars  ’longside  er  dis  crowd,  yit  yer  I is,  en  I’m  de 
same  man  w’at  show  Brer  Rabbit  dat  he  ain’t  de 
swiffes’ ; en  I’m  de  same  man  w’at  kin  show  Brer  B’ar 
dat  he  ain’t  de  stronges’,’  sezee. 

“ Den  dey  all  laff  en  holler,  kaze  it  look  like  Brer 
B’ar  mo’  stronger  dan  a steer.  Bimeby,  Miss  Mead- 
ows, she  up’n  ax,  she  did,  how  he  gwine  do  it. 

44  4 Gimme  a good  strong  rope,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin, 
sezee,  4 en  lemme  git  in  er  puddle  er  water,  en  den  let 
Brer  B’ar  see  ef  he  kin  pull  me  out,’  sezee. 

44  Den  dey  all  laff  g’in,  en  Brer  B’ar,  he  ups  en  sez, 
sezee  : ‘¥e  ain’t  got  no  rope,’  sezee. 

44  4 Ho,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin,  sezee,  4 en  needer  is  you 
got  de  strenk,’  sezee,  en  den  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  rock  en 
rock  ’long,  en  watch  de  ’lasses  a bilin’  en  a blubberin’. 

44  Atter  w’ile  Miss  Meadows,  she  up  en  say,  she  did, 
dat  she’d  take’n  loan  de  young  men  her  bed-cord,  en 
w’iles  de  candy  wuz  a coolin’  in  de  plates,  dey  could  all 
go  ter  de  branch  en  see  Brer  Tarrypin  kyar  out  his 
projick.  Brer  Tarrypin,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  in 
a tone  at  once  confidential  and  argumentative,  44  wern’t 
much  bigger’n  de  pa’m  er  my  lian’,  en  it  look  mighty 
funny  fer  ter  year  ’im  braggin’  ’bout  how  he  kin  out- 


MR.  TERRAPIN  SHOWS  HIS  STRENGTH.  127 

pull  Brer  B’ar.  But  dey  got  de  bed-cord  atter  w’ile, 
en  den  dey  all  put  out  ter  de  branch.  W’en  Brer 
Tarrypin  fine  de  place  he  wanter,  he  tuck  one  een’  er 
de  bed-cord,  en  gun  de  yuther  een’  to  Brer  B’ar. 

“ 4 Now  den,  ladies  en  gents,’  sez  Brer  Tarrypin, 
sezee,  4 you  all  go  wid  Brer  B’ar  up  dar  in  de  woods 
en  I’ll  stay  yer,  en  w’en  you  year  me  holler,  den’s  de 
time  fer  Brer  B’ar  fer  ter  see  ef  he  kin  haul  in  de 
slack  er  de  rope.  You  all  take  keer  er  dat  ar  een’,’ 
sezee,  4 en  I’ll  take  keer  er  dish  yer  een’,’  sezee. 


44  Den  dey  all  put  out  en  lef’  Brer  Tarrypin  at  de 
branch,  en  w’en  dey  got  good  en  gone,  he  dove  down 


128  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

inter  de  water,  lie  did,  en  tie  de  bedcord  hard  en  fas’ 
ter  wunner  deze  yer  big  clay-roots,  en  den  he  riz  up  en 
gin  a whoop. 

44  Brer  B’ar  he  wrop  de  bed-cord  roun’  his  han’,  en 
wink  at  de  gals,  en  wid  dat  he  gin  a big  juk,  but  Brer 
Tarrypin  ain’t  budge.  Den  he  take  bofe  ban’s  en  gin 
a big  pull,  but,  all  de  same,  Brer  Tarrypin  ain’t  budge. 
Den  he  tu’n  ’roun’,  he  did,  en  put  de  rope  cross  his 
shoulders  en  try  ter  walk  off  wid  Brer  Tarrypin,  but 
Brer  Tarrypin  look  like  he  don’t  feel  like  walkin’. 
Den  Brer  Wolf  he  put  in  en  hope  Brer  B’ar  pull,  but 
des  like  he  didn’t,  en  den  dey  all  hope  ’im,  en,  bless 
graslius  ! w’iles  dey  wuz  all  a pullin’,  Brer  Tarrypin, 
he  holler,  en  ax.  uin  w’y  dey  don’t  take  up  de  slack. 
Den  w’en  Brer  Tarrypin  feel  um  quit  pullin’,  he  dove 
down,  he  did,  en  ontie  de  rope,  en  by  de  time  dey  got 
ter  de  branch,  Brer  Tarrypin,  he  wuz  settin’  in  de 
aidge  er  de  water  des  ez  natchul  ez  de  nex’  un,  en  he 
up’n  say,  sezee  : 

“ 4 Dat  las’  pull  er  yone  wuz  a mighty  stiff  un,  en  a 
leetle  mo’n  you’d  er  had  me,’  sezee.  4 Youer  monstus 
stout,  Brer  B’ar,’  sezee,  4 en  you  pulls  like  a yoke  er 
steers,  but  I sorter  had  de  purchis  on  you,’  sezee. 

44  Den  Brer  B’ar,  bein’s  his  mouf  ’gun  ter  water 
atter  de  sweetnin’,  he  up’n  say  he  speck  de  candy’s 
ripe,  en  off  dey  put  atter  it ! ” 

44  It’s  a wonder,”  said  the  little  boy,  after  a while, 
44  that  the  rope  didn’t  break.” 


He  try  ter  walk  off  wid  Brer  Tarrypin, 


WHY  MR.  POSSUM  HAS  NO  HAIR  ON  IIIS  TAIL.  129 


“ Break  who  ? ” exclaimed  Uncle  Remus,  with  a 
touch  of  indignation  in  his  tone — “ break  who  ? In 
dem  days,  Miss  Meadows’s  bed-cord  would  a hilt  a 
mule.” 

This  put  an  end  to  whatever  doubts  the  child  might 
have  entertained. 


XXVII. 

WHY  MR.  POSSUM  HAS  NO  HAIR  ON  HIS  TAIL. 

“ Hit  look  like  ter  me,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  frown- 
ing, as  the  little  boy  came  hopping  and  skipping  into 
the  old  man’s  cabin,  “ dat  I see  a young  un  ’bout  yo’ 
size  playin’  en  makin’  free  wid  dem  ar  chilluns  er  ole 
Miss  Favers’s  yistiddy,  en  w’en  I seed  dat,  I drap  my 
axe,  en  I come  in  yer  en  sot  flat  down  right  whar 
youer  settin’  now,  en  I say  ter  myse’f  dat  it’s  ’bout 
time  fer  ole  Remus  fer  ter  hang  up  en  quit.  Dat’s 
des  zackly  w’at  I say.” 

“ Well,  Uncle  Remus,  they  called  me,”  said  the  lit- 
tle boy,  in  a penitent  tone.  “ They  come  and  called 
me,  and  said  they  had  a pistol  and  some  powder  over 
there.” 

“ Bar  now  ! ” exclaimed  the  old  man,  indignantly. 
“ Dar  now  ! w’at  I bin  sayin’  ? Hit’s  des  a born  bless- 
in’  dat  you  wa’n’t  brung  home  on  a litter  wid  bofe 
eyeballs  hangin’  out  en  one  year  clean  gone  ; dat’s  w’at 


130  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

’tis ! Hit’s  des  a born  blessin’.  Hit  hope  me  up 
might’ly  de  udder  day  w’en  I hear  Miss  Sally  layin’ 
down  de  law  ’bout  you  en  dern  Favers  chillun,  yit,  lo 
en  beholes,  de  fus  news  I knows  yer  you  is  han’-in- 
glove  wid  um.  Hit’s  nuff  fer  ter  fetch  ole  Miss  right 
up  out’n  dat  berryin’-groun’  fum  down  dar  in  Putmon 
County,  en  w’at  yo’  gram’ma  wouldn’t  er  stood  me  en 
yo’  ma  ain’t  gwineter  stan’  nudder,  en  de  nex’  time  I 
hear,  ’bout  sech  a come  off  ez  dis,  right  den  en  dar 
I’m  boun’  ter  lay  de  case  ’fo’  Miss  Sally.  Dem  Fa- 
vers’s  wa’n’t  no  ’count  ’fo’  de  war,  en  dey  wa’n’t 
no  ’count  endurin’  er  de  war,  en  dey  ain’t  no  ’count 
atterwards,  en  w’iles  my  head’s  hot  you  ain’t  gwin- 
eter go  mixin’  up  yo’se’f  wid  de  riff-raff  er  crea- 
shun.” 

The  little  boy  made  no  further  attempt  to  justify 
his  conduct.  He  was  a very  wise  little  boy,  and  he 
knew  that,  in  Uncle  Remus’s  eyes,  he  had  been  guilty 
of  a flagrant  violation  of  the  family  code.  Therefore, 
instead  of  attempting  to  justify  himself,  he  pleaded 
guilty,  and  promised  that  he  would  never  do  so  any 
more.  After  this  there  was  a long  period  of  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  vigorous  style  in  which  Uncle  Re- 
mus puffed  away  at  his  pipe.  This  was  the  invariable 
result.  Whenever  the  old  man  had  occasion  to  repri- 
mand the  little  boy — and  the  occasions  were  frequent 
— he  would  relapse  into  a dignified  but  stubborn  si- 
lence. Presently  the  youngster  drew  forth  from  his 


WHY  MR.  POSSUM  HAS  NO  HAIR  ON  HIS  TAIL.  131 


pocket  a long  piece  of  candle.  The  sharp  eyes  of  the 
old  man  saw  it  at  once. 

u Don’t  yon  come  a tellin’  me  dat  Miss  Sally  gun 
you  dat,”  he  exclaimed,  “ kaze  she  didn’t.  En  I lay 
you  hatter  be  monstus  sly  ’fo’  you  gotter  chance  fer  ter 
snatch  up  dat  piece  er  cannle.” 

“ Well,  Uncle  Remus,”  the  little  boy  explained,  “ it 
was  lying  there  all  by  itself,  and  I just  thought  I’d 
fetch  it  out  to  you.”  k 

“ Dat’s  so,  honey,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  greatly 
mollified  ; “ dat’s  so,  kaze  by  now  some  er  dem  yuther 
niggers  ’ud  er  done  had  her  lit  up.  Dey  er  mighty 
biggity,  dem  house  niggers  is,  but  I notices  dat  dey 
don’t  let  nuthin’  pass.  Dey  goes  ’long  wid  der  han’s 
en  der  mouf  open,  en  w’at  one  don’t  ketch  de  tother 
one  do.” 

There  was  another  pause,  and  finally  the  little  boy 
said  : 

“ Uncle  Remus,  you  know  you  promised  to-day  to 
tell  me  why  the  ’Possum  has  no  hair  on  his  tail.” 

“ Law,  honey  ! ain’t  you  done  gone  en  fergot  dat 
off’n  yo’  mine  yit  ? Hit  look  like  ter  me,”  continued 
the  old  man,  leisurely  refilling  his  pipe,  “ dat  she  sorter 
run  like  dis : One  time  ole  Brer  Possum,  he  git  so 
hungry,  he  did,  dat  he  bleedzd  fer  ter  have  a me^B  er 
’simmons.  He  monstus  lazy  man,  old  Brer  Possum 
wuz,  but  bimeby  his  stummuck  ’gun  ter  growl  en 
holler  at  ’im  so  dat  he  des  hatter  rack  ’roun’  en  hunt 


132 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


up  sump’n  ; en  w’iles  he  wuz  rackin’  ’roun’,  who  sli’d 
he  run  up  wid  but  Brer  Rabbit,  en  dey  wuz  hail- 
fellers,  kaze  Brer  Possum,  he  ain’t  bin  bodder’n  Brer 
Rabbit  like  dem  yuther  creeturs.  Dey  sot  down  by  de 
side  er  de  big  road,  en  dar  dey 
jabber  en  confab  ’mong  wunner 
nudder,  twel  bimeby  old  Brer 
Possum,  he  take  ’n  tell 
Brer  Rabbit  dat  he  mos’ 


, 'V  pe’sh  out,  en  Brer 

^ Rabbit,  he  lip  up 

in  de  a’r,  he  did,  en 
smack  his  han’s  tergedder,  en  say  dat  he  know  right 
whar  Brer  Possum  kin  git  a bait  er  ’simmons.  Den 
Brer  Possum,  he  say  whar,  en  Brer  Rabbit,  he  say 
w’icli  ’twuz  over  at  Brer  B’ar’s  ’simmon  orchard.” 

“ Did  the  Bear  have  a ’simmon  orchard,  Uncle  Re- 
mus ? ” the  little  boy  asked. , 

“ Co’se,  honey,  kaze  in  dem  days  Brer  B’ar  wuz  a 


WHY  MR.  POSSUM  HAS  NO  HAIR  ON  HIS  TAIL.  133 


bee-hunter.  He  make  his  livin’  findin’  bee  trees,  en  de 
way  he  fine  um  he  plant  ’im  some  ’simmon-trees,  w’ich 
de  bees  dey’d  come  ter  suck  de  ’simmons  en  den  ole 
Erer  B’ar  he’d  watch  um  whar  dey’d  go,  en  den  he’d 
be  mighty  ap’  fer  ter  come  up  .wid  um.  Ho  matter 
’bout  dat,  de  ’simmon  patch  ’uz  dar  des  like  I tell  you, 
en  ole  Brer  Possum  inouf  ’gun  ter  water  soon’s  he 
year  talk  un  um,  en  mos’  ’fo’  Brer  Rabbit  done  tellin’ 
’im  de  news,  Brer  Possum,  he  put  out,  he  did,  en 
’twa’n’t  long  ’fo’  he  wuz  perch  up  in  de  highes’  tree 
in  Brer  B’ar  ’simmon  patch.  But  Brer  Rabbit,  he 
done  ’termin’  fer  ter  see  some  fun,  en  w’iles  all  dis  ’uz 
gwine  on,  he  run  ’roun’  ter  Brer  B’ar  house,  en  holler 
en  tell  ’im  w’ich  dey  wuz  somebody  ’stroyin’  un 
his  ’simmons,  en  Brer  B’ar,  he  hustle  off  fer  ter 
ketch  ’im. 

44  Eve’y  now  en  den  Brer  Possum  think  he  year 
Brer  B’ar  cornin’,  but  he  keep  on  sayin’,  sezee  : 

44  4 Pll  des  git  one  ’simmon  mo’  en  den  Pll  go  ; one 
’simmon  mo’  en  den  I’ll  go.’ 

44  Las’  he  year  Brer  B’ar  cornin’  sho  nuff,  but  ’twuz 
de  same  ole  chune — 4 One  ’simmon  mo’  en  den  I’ll  go  ’ 
— en  des  ’bout  dat  time  Brer  B’ar  busted  inter  de  patch, 
en  gin  de  tree  a shake,  en  Brer  Possum,  he  drapt  out 
longer  de  yuther  ripe  ’simmons,  but  time  he  totch  de 
groun’  he  got  his  foots  tergedder,  en  he  lit  out  fer  de 
fence  same  ez  a race-hoss,  en  ’cross  dat  patch  him  en 
Brer  B’ar  had  it,  en  Brer  B’ar  gain’  eve’y  jump,  twel 


134 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


time  Brer  Possum  make  de  fence  Brer  B’ar  grab  ’im 
by  de  tail,  en  Brer  Possum,  lie  went  out  ’tween  de  rails 
en  gin  a powerful  juk  en  pull  his  tail  out  ’twix  Brer 
B’ar  tushes ; en,  lo  en  beholes, 


wid  a go’d  er  water,  Brer  B’ar  ’der  got  strankle. 

“ Fum  dat  day  ter  dis,”  said  Uncle  Bemus, 


THE  END  OF  MR.  BEAR. 


135 


knocking  the  ashes  carefully  out  of  his  pipe,  “Brer 
Possum  ain’t  had  no  ha’r  on  his  tail,  en  needer  do 
his  chilluns.” 


XXVIII. 

TEE  END  OF  MR.  BEAR. 

The  next  time  the  little  boy  sought  Uncle  Remus 
out,  he  found  the  old  man  unusually  cheerful  and  good- 
humoured.  His  rheumatism  had  ceased  to  trouble  him, 
and  he  was  even  disposed  to  be  boisterous.  He  was 
singing  when  the  little  boy  got  near  the  cabin,  and  the 
child  paused  on  the  outside  to  listen  to  the  vigorous  but 
mellow  voice  of  the  old  man,  as  it  rose  and  fell  with 
the  burden  of  the  curiously  plaintive  song — a senseless 
affair  so  far  as  the  words  were  concerned,  but  sung  to  a 
melody  almost  thrilling  in  its  sweetness  : 

“ Han’  me  down  my  walkin’-cane 
(Hey  my  Lily  ! go  down  de  road  !), 

Yo’  true  lover  gone  down  de  lane 
(Hey  my  Lily  ! go  down  de  road  !).” 

The  quick  ear  of  Uncle  Remus,  however,  had  de- 
tected the  presence  of  the  little  boy,  and  he  allowed 
his  song  to  run  into  a recitation  of  nonsense,  of  which 
the  following,  if  it  be  rapidly  spoken,  will  give  a faint 
idea : 

“ Ole  M’er  Jackson,  fines’  contraction,  fell  down 


136 


LEGENDS  OF  TIIE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


sta’rs  fer  to  git  satisfaction  ; big  Bill  Fray,  lie  rule 
de  day,  eve’ything  lie  call  fer  come  one,  two  by  three. 
Gwine  ’long  one  day,  met  Johnny  Huby,  ax  him  grine 
nine  yards  er  steel  fer  me,  tole  me  w’ich  he  couldn’t ; 
den  I List  ’im  over  Hickerson  Dickerson’s  barn-doors ; 
knock  ’im  ninety-nine  miles  under  water,  w’en  he  rise, 
he  rise  in  Pike  straddle  un  a hanspike,  en  I lef ’ ’im  dar 
smokin’  er  de  hornpipe,  Juba  reda  seda  breda.  Aunt 
Kate  at  de  gate  ; I want  to  eat,  she  fry  de  meat  en 
gimme  skin,  w’ich  I fling  it  back  agin.  Juba  ! ” 

All  this,  rattled  off  at  a rapid  rate  and  with  apparent 
seriousness,  was  calculated  to  puzzle  the  little  boy,  and 
he  slipped  into  his  accustomed  seat  with  an  expression 
of  awed  bewilderment  upon  his  face. 

u Hit’s  all  des  dat  away,  honey,”  continued  the  old 
man,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  just  given  an  im- 
portant piece  of  information.  “ En  w’en  you  bin  cas’n 
shadders  long  ez  de  ole  nigger,  den  you’ll  fine  out  who’s 
w’ich,  en  w’ich’s  who.” 

The  little  boy  made  no  response.  He  was  in  thor- 
ough sympathy  with  all  the  whims  and  humors  of  'the 
old  man,  and  his  capacity  for  enjoying  them  was  large 
enough  to  include  even  those  he  could  not  understand. 
Uncle  Remus  was  finishing  an  axe-handle,  and  upon 
these  occasions  it  was  his  custom  to  allow  the  child  to 
hold  one  end  while  he  applied  sand- paper  to  the  other. 
These  relations  were  pretty  soon  established,  to  the  mu- 
tual satisfaction  of  the  parties  most  interested,  and  the 


THE  END  OP  MR.  BEAR. 


137 


old  man  continued  his  remarks,  but  this  time  not  at 
random  : 

“ W’en  I see  deze  yer  swell-head  folks  like  dat  ’oman 
w’at  come  en  tell  yo’  ma  ’bout  you  chunkin’  at  her  chil- 
luns,  w’ich  yo’  ma  make  Mars  John  strop  you,  hit  make 
my  mine  run  back  to  ole  Brer  B’ar.  Ole  Brer  B’ar,  he 
got  de  swell-headedness  hisse’f,  en  ef  der  wuz  enny 
swinkin’,  hit  swunk  too  late  fer  ter  he’p  ole  Brer  B’ar. 
Leas’ways  dat’s  w’at  dey  tells  me,  en  I ain’t  never  yearn 
it  ’sputed.” 

“ Was  the  Bear’s  head  sure  enough  swelled,  Uncle 
Bemus  ? ” 

“ Now  you  talkin’,  honey ! ” exclaimed  the  old  man. 

“ Goodness  ! what  made  it  swell  ? ” 

This  was  Uncle  Bemus’s  cue.  Applying  the  sand- 
paper to  the  axe-helve  with  gentle  vigor,  he  began  : 

“ One  time  when  Brer  Babbit  wuz  gwine  lopin’ 
home  fum  a frolic  w’at  dey  bin  havin’  up  at  Miss 
Meadows’s,  who  should  he  happin  up  wid  but  ole  Brer 
B’ar.  Co’se,  atter  w’at  done  pass  ’twix  um  dey  wa’n’t 
no  good  feelin’s  ’tween  Brer  Babbit  en  ole  Brer  B’ar, 
but  Brer  Babbit,  he  wanter  save  his  manners,  en  so  he 
holler  out : 

“ Heyo,  Brer  B’ar  ! how  you  come  on  ? I ain’t  seed 
you  in  a coon’s  age.  How  all  down  at  yo’  house  ? How 
Miss  Brune  en  Miss  Brindle  ? ” 

“ Who  was  that,  Uncle  Bemus  ? ” the  little  boy  in- 
terrupted. ^ 


138 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ Miss  Brune  en  Miss  Brindle  % Miss  Brune  wuz 
Brer  B’ar’s  ole  ’oman,  en  Miss  Brindle  wuz  liis  gal. 
Dat  w’at  dey  call  um 
in  dem  days.  So  den 
Brer  Babbit,  he  ax 
him  howdy,  he  did, 
en  Brer  B’ar,  he  ’spon’ 


dat  he  wuz  mighty  po’ly,  en  dey  amble  ’long,  dey  did, 
sorter  familious  like,  but  Brer  Babbit,  he  keep  one  eye 
on  Brer  B’ar,  en  Brer  B’ar,  he  study  how  he  gwine  nab 
Brer  Babbit.  Las’  Brer  Babbit,  he  up’n  say,  sezee  : 

“ 4 Brer  B’ar,  I speck  I got  some  bizness  cut  out  fer 
you,’  sezee. 

i What  dat,  Brer  Babbit  ? ’ sez  Brer  B’ar,  sezee. 

“ ‘ W’iles  I wuz  cleanin’  up  my  new-groun’  day  ’fo’ 
yistiddy,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  6 1 come  ’cross  wunner 
deze  yer  ole  time  bee-trees.  Hit  start  holler  at  de  hot- 


THE  END  OF  MR.  BEAR. 


139 


tom,  en  stay  holler  plum  der  de  top,  en  de  honey’s  des 
natally  oozin’  out,  en  ef  you’ll  drap  yo’  ’gagements  en 
go  ’longer  me,’  sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee,  ‘ you’ll  git  a bait 
dat’ll  las’  you  en  yo’  fambly  twel  de 
middle  er  nex’  mont’,’  sezee. 

“ Brer  B’ar  say  be  much 
oblije  en  be  b’leeve  he’ll  go 
’long,  en  wid  dat  dey  put  out 
fer  Brer  Babbit’s  new-groun’, 
w’ich  twa’n’t  so  mighty  fur. 

Leas’ways,  dey  got  dar  atter 
w’ile.  Ole  Brer  B’ar,  he  ’low  dat 
he  kin  smell  de  honey.  Brer  Bab- 
bit, be  ’low  dat  be  kin  see  de  lion- 
ey-koam.  Brer  B’ar,  be  low  dat 
be  can  bear  de  bees  a zoonin’. 

Dey  stan’  ’roun’  en  talk  biggity, 
dey  did,  twel  bimeby  Brer  Bab- 
bit, be  up’n  say,  sezee  : 

“ 6 You  do  de  clim-’in’,  Brer 
B’ar,  en  I’ll  do  de  rushin’ 

’roun’ ; you  clime  up  ter  de 
hole,  en  I’ll  take  dis  yer 


140 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


pine  pole  en  shove  de  honey  up  whar  you  kin  git 
’er’,  sezee. 

“ Ole  Brer  B’ar,  he  spit  on  his  ban’s  en  skint  up  de 
tree,  en  jam  his  head  in  de  hole,  en  sho  nuff,  Brer  Rab- 
bit, he  grab  de  pine  pole,  en  de  way  he  stir  up  deni  bees 
wuz  sinful — dat’s  w’at  it  wuz.  Hit  wuz  sinful.  En  de 
bees  dey  swawm’d  on  Brer  B’ar’s  head,  twel  ’fo’  he  could 
take  it  out’n  de  hole  hit  wuz  done  swell  up  bigger  dan 
dat  dinner-pot,  en  dar  he  swung,  en  ole  Brer  Rabbit, 
he  dance  ’roun’  en  sing  : 

“ ‘ Tree  stan’  high,  but  honey  mighty  sweet — 

Watch  dem  bees  wid  stingers  on  der  feet.’ 

“ But  dar  ole  Brer  B’ar  hung,  en  ef  his  head  ain’t 
swunk,  I speck  he  hangin’  dar  yit — dat  w’at  I speck.” 


XXIX. 

MR.  FOX  GETS  INTO  SERIOUS  BUSINESS. 

“ Hit  turn  out  one  time,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  grind- 
ing some  crumbs  of  tobacco  between  the  palms  of  his 
hands,  preparatory  to  enjoying  his  usual  smoke  after 
supper — “ hit  turn  out  one  time  dat  Brer  Rabbit  make 
so  free  wid  de  man’s  collard-patch  dat  de  man  he  tuck’n 
sot  a trap  fer  ole  Brer  Rabbit.” 

“ Which  man  was  that,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” asked  the 
little  boy. 


MR.  FOX  GETS  INTO  SERIOUS  BUSINESS.  141 


“ Des  a man,  honey.  Dat’s  all.  Dat’s  all  I knows 
— des  wunner  dese  yer  mans  w’at  yon  see  trollopin 
’roun’  eve’y  day.  Nobody  ain’t  never  year  w’at  his 
name  is,  en  ef  dey  did  dey  kep’  de  news  mighty  close 
fum  me.  Ef  dish  yer  man  is  bleedzd  fer  ter  have  a 
name,  den  I’m  done,  kaze  you’ll  hatter  go  fudder  dan 
me.  Ef  you  bleedzd  ter  know  mo’  dan  w’at  I duz, 
den  you’ll  hatter  hunt  up  some  er  deze  yer  niggers 
w’at’s  sprung  up  sence  I commence  fer  ter  shed  my 
ha’r.” 

“ Well,  I just  thought,  Uncle  Remus,”  said  the  little 
boy,  in  a tone  remarkable  for  self-depreciation,  “ that 
the  man  had  a name.” 

“ Tooby  sho,”  replied  the  old  man,  with  unction, 
puffing  away  at  his  pipe.  “ Co’se.  Dat  w’at  make  I 
say  w’at  I duz.  Dish  yer  man  mout  a had  a name, 
en  den  ag’in  he  moutn’t.  He  mout  er  bin  name  Slip- 
shot  Sam,  en  he  mouter  bin  name  ole  One-eye  Riley, 
w’ich  ef  ’twuz  hit  ain’t  bin  handed  roun’  ter  me.  But 
dish  yer  man,  he  in  de  tale,  en  w’at  we  gwine  do  wid 
’im  ? Dat’s  de  p’int,  kase  w’en  I git  ter  huntin’  ’roun’ 
’mong  my  ’membunce  atter  dish  yer  Mister  W’atyou- 
maycollum’s  name,  she  ain’t  dar.  Now  den,  less  des 
call  ’im  Mr.  Man  en  let  ’im  go  at  dat.” 

The  silence  of  the  little  boy  gave  consent. 

“ One  time,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  carefully  taking  up 
the  thread  of  the  story  where  it  had  been  dropped,  “ hit 
turn  out  dat  Brer  Rabbit  bin  makin’  so  free  wid  Mr. 


142 


LEGENDS  OF  TIIE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


Man’s  greens  en  truck  dat  Mr.  Man,  he  tuck’n  sot  a trap 
for  Brer  Babbit,  en  Brer  Babbit  he  so  greedy  dat  he 
tuck’n  walk  right  spang  in  it,  ’fo’  he  know  hisse’f.  Well, 
’twa’n’t  long  ’fo’  yer  come  Mr.  Man,  broozin’  ’roun’,  en 
he  ain’t  no  sooner  see  ole  Brer  Babbit  dan  he  smack  his 
han’s  tergedder  en  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Youer  nice  feller,  you  is  ! Yer  you  bin  gobblin’ 
up  my  green  truck,  en  now  you  tryin’  ter  tote  off  my 
trap.  Youer  mighty  nice  chap — dat’s  w’at  you  is ! But 
now  dat  I got  you,  I’ll  des  ’bout  settle  wid  you  fer  de 
ole  en  de  new.’ 

“ En  wid  dat,  Mr.  Man,  he  go  off,  he  did,  down  in 
de  bushes  atter  han’ful  er  switches.  Ole  Brer  Babbit, 
he  ain’t  sayin’  nuthin’,  but  he  feelin’  mighty  lonesome, 
en  he  sot  dar  lookin’  like  eve’y  minnit  wuz  gwineter 
be  de  nex’.  En  wiles  Mr.  Man  wuz  off  prepa’r’n  his 
bresh-broom,  who  should  come  p’radin’  ’long  but  Brer 
Fox.  Brer  Fox  make  a great  ’miration,  he  did,  ’bout 
de  fix  w’at  he  fine  Brer  Babbit  in,  but  Brer  Babbit  he 
make  like  he  fit  ter  kill  hisse’f  laffin’,  en  he  up’n  tell 
Brer  Fox,  he  did,  dat  Miss  Meadows’s  fokes  want  ’im 
ter  go  down  ter  der  house  in  ’tennunce  on  a weddin’, 
en  he  ’low  w’ich  he  couldn’t,  en  dey  ’low  how  he  could, 
en  den  bimeby  dey  take’n  tie  ’im  dar  w’iles  dey  go  atter 
de  preacher,  so  he  be  dar  w’en  dey  come  back.  En  mo’n 
dat,  Brer  Babbit  up’n  tell  Brer  Fox  dat  his  cliillun’s 
mighty  low  wid  de  fever,  en  he  bleedzd  ter  go  atter  some 
pills  fer’m,  en  he  ax  Brer  Fox  fer  ter  take  his  place  en 


MR.  FOX  GETS  INTO  SERIOUS  BUSINESS.  143 

go  down  ter  Miss  Meadows’s  en  have  nice  time  wid 
de  gals.  Brer  Fox,  he  in  fer  dem  kinder  pranks,  en 


Brer  Fox  harness  up 


dar  in  his  place,  en  den  he  make  like  he  got  ter 
make  ’as’e  en  git  de  pills  fer  dem  sick  cliilluns.  Brer 
Babbit  wa’n’t  mo’n  out  er  sight  ’fo’  yer  come  Mr.  Man 
wid  a han’ful  er  hick’ries,  but  w’en  he  see  Brer  Fox  tied 
up  dar,  he  look  like  he  ’stonished. 

“ ‘ Heyo  ! ’ sez  Mr.  Man,  sezee,  4 you  done  change 
color,  en  you  done  got  bigger,  en  yo’  tail  done  grow 
out.  W’at  kin’er  w’atzyname  is  you,  ennyhow  ? ’ sezee. 

“ Brer  Fox,  he  stay  still,  en  Mr.  Man,  he  talk  on  : 


144 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ 6 Hit’s  miglity  big  luck,’  sezee,  4 ef  w’en  I ketch  de 
chap  w’at  nibble  my  greens,  likewise  I ketch  de  feller 
w’at  gnyaw  my  goose,’  sezee,  en  wid  dat  he  let  inter 
Brer  Fox  wid  de  hick’ries,  en  de  way  he  play  rap-jacket 
wuz  a caution  ter  de  naberhood.  Brer  Fox,  he  juk  en 
he  jump,  en  he  squeal  en  he  squall,  but  Mr.  Man,  he 
shower  down  on  ’im,  he  did,  like  fightin’  a red  was’- 
nes’.” 

The  little  boy  laughed,  and  Uncle  Bemus  supple- 
mented this  indorsement  of  his  descriptive  powers  with 
a most  infectious  chuckle. 

“ Bimeby,”  continued  the  old  man,  “ de  switches, 
dey  got  frazzle  out,  en  Mr.  Man,  he  put  out  atter  mo’, 
en  w’en  he  done  got  fa’rly  outer  yearin’,  Brer  Babbit, 
he  show’d  up,  he  did,  kaze  he  des  bin  hidin’  out  in  de 
bushes  lis’nin’  at  de  racket,  en  he  ’low  hit  mighty  funny 
dat  Miss  Meadows  ain’t  come  ’long,  kaze  he  done  bin 
down  ter  de  doctor  house,  en  dat’s  fudder  dan  de 
preacher,  yit.  Brer  Babbit  make  like  he  hurr’in’  on 
home,  but  Brer  Fox,  he  open  up,  he  did,  en  he  say  : 

“ ‘ I thank  you  fer  ter  tu’n  me  loose,  Brer  Babbit, 
en  I’ll  be  ’blije,’  sezee,  ‘kaze  you  done  tie  me  up  so 
tight  dat  it  make  my  head  swim,  en  I don’t  speck  I’d 
las’  fer  ter  git  ter  Miss  Meadows’s’,  sezee. 

“ Brer  Babbit,  he  sot  down  sorter  keerless  like,  en 
begin  fer  ter  scratch  one  year  like  a man  study  in’  ’bout 
sump’n. 

“ ‘ Dat’s  so,  Brer  Fox,’  sezee,  ‘you  duz  look  sorter 


MR.  FOX  GETS  INTO  SERIOUS  BUSINESS.  145 


stove  up.  Look  like  sump’n  bin  onkoamin’  yo’  ha’rs,’ 


sezee. 

u 


.X  - 


Brer  Fox  ain’t  sayin’  nothin’,  but  Brer  Rabbit,  he 
keep  on  talkin’  : 

“ 6 Dey  ain’t  no  bad  feelin’s  ’twix’ 
us,  is  dey,  Brer  Fox  % Kaze  ef 
dey  is,  I ain’t  got  no  time 
/ , - fer  ter  be 


tarryin’ 


, a grer  yox  say 

w’ich  he  don’t 

have  no  onfrennelness,  en  wid  dat  Brer  Rabbit  cut 


Brer  Fox  loose  des  in  time  fer  ter  hear  Mr.  Man 
w’isserlin  up  his  dogs,  en  one  went  one  way  en  de 
udder  went  nudder.” 


146 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


xxx. 

HO  W MR.  RABBIT  SUCCEEDED  IN  RAISING  A DUST. 

u In  dem  times,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  gazing  admir- 
ingly at  himself  in  a fragment  of  looking-glass,  u Brer 
Babbit,  en  Brer  Fox,  en  Brer  Coon,  en  dem  yuther 
creeturs  go  co’tin’  en  sparklin’  ’roun’  de  naberhood 
mo’  samer  dan  folks.  ’Twan’t  no  ‘ Lemme  a hoss,’  ner 
4 Fetch  me  my  buggy,’  but  dey  des  up’n  lit  out  en  tote 
deyse’f.  Dar’s  ole  Brer  Fox,  he  des  wheel  ’roun’  en 
fetch  his  flank  one  swipe  wid  ’is  tongue  en  he’d  be 
koam  up  ; en  Brer  Babbit,  he  des  spit  on  his  han’  en 
twis’  it  ’roun’  ’mongst  de  roots  er  his  years  en  his  ha’r’d 
be  roach.  Dey  wuz  dat  flirtashus,”  continued  the  old 
man,  closing  one  eye  at  his  image  in  the  glass,  “ dat  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  don’t  se  no  peace  fum  one  week 
een’  ter  de  udder.  Chuseday  wuz  same  as  Sunday,  en 
Friday  wuz  same  as  Chuseday,  en  hit  come  down  ter 
dat  pass  dat  w’en  Miss  Meadows  ’ud  have  chicken-fixins 
fer  dinner,  in  ’ud  drap  Brer  Fox  en  Brer  Possum,  en 
w’en  she’d  have  fried  greens  in  ’ud  pop  ole  Brer  Babbit, 
twel  ’las’  Miss  Meadows,  she  tuck’n  tell  de  gals  dat  she 
be  dad-blame  ef  she  gwineter  keep  no  tavvum.  So  dey 
fix  it  up  ’mong  deyse’f,  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  did, 
dat  de  nex’  time  de  gents  call  dey’d  gin  urn  a game. 
De  gents,  dey  wuz  a co’tin,  but  Miss  Meadows,  she  don’t 
wanter  marry  none  un  um,  en  needer  duz  de  gals,  en 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  SUCCEEDED  IN  RAISING  A DUST.  147 


likewise  dej  don’t  wanter  have  urn  pester’n  ’roun’.  Las’, 
one  Chuseday,  Miss  Meadows,  she  tole  um  dat  ef  dey 
come  down  ter  her  house  de  nex’  Sat’day  evenin’,  de 
whole  caboodle  un  um  ’ud  go  down  de  road  a piece, 
whar  der  wuz  a big  flint  rock,  en  de  man  w’at  could 
take  a sludge-hammer  en  knock  de  dus’  out’n  dat  rock, 
he  wuz  de  man  w’at  ’ud  git  de  pick  er  de  gals.  Dey  all 
say  dey  gwine  do  it,  but  ole  Brer  Babbit,  he  crope  off 
whar  der  wuz  a cool  place  under  some  jimson  weeds, 
en  dar  he  sot  wukkin  his  mind  how  he 
gwineter  git  dus’  out’n  dat  rock.  Bime- 
by,  w’ile  he  wuz  a settin’  dar,  up  he 
jump  en  crack  his  heels  tergedder  en 
sing  out : 

“ ‘ Make  a bow  ter  de  Buzzard  en 
den  ter  de  Crow, 

Takes  a limber-toe  gemmun  fer 
ter  jump  Jim  Crow,’ 

en  wid  dat  he  put  out  for  Brer 
Coon  house  en  borrer  his  slip 
pers.  W’en  Sat’day  evenin’ 
come,  dey  wuz  all  dere.  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals,  dey  wuz 
dere ; en  Brer  Coon,  en  Brex 
Fox,  en  Brer  Possum,  en  Brer 
Tarrypin,  dey  wuz  dere.” 
u Where  was  the  Babbit  ? ” the  little  boy  asked. 

0 Touk’n  put  yo’  ’pennunce  in  ole  Brer  Babbit,” 


148 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


the  old  man  replied,  with  a chuckle.  “ He  wuz  dere, 
but  he  shuffle  up  kinder  late,  kaze  w’en  Miss  Meadows 
en  de  ballunce  un  um  done  gone  down  ter  de  place,  Brer 
Babbit,  he  crope  ’roun’  ter  de  ash-hopper,  en  fill  Brer 
Coon  slippers  full  er  ashes,  en  den  he  tuck’n  put  um  on 
en  march  oft’.  He  got  dar  atter  ’w’ile,  en  soon’s  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  seed  ’im,  dey  up’n  giggle,  en  make 
a great  ’miration  kaze  Brer  Babbit  got  on  slippers. 
Brer  Fox,  he  so  smart,  he  holler  out,  he  did,  en  say 
he  lay  Brer  Babbit  got  de  groun’-eatch,  but  Brer  Bab- 
bit,  he  sorter  shet  one  eye,  he  did,  en  say,  sezee  : 

“ 4 1 bin  so  useter  ridin’  hoss-back,  ez  deze  ladies 
knows,  dat  I’m  gittin’  sorter  tender-footed  ; ’ en  dey 
don’t  hear  much  mo’  fum  Brer  Fox  dat  day,  kaze  he 
’member  how  Brer  Babbit  done  bin  en  rid  him  ; en  hit 
’uz  des  ’bout  much  ez  Miss  Meadows  en  de  gals  could 
do  fer  ter  keep  der  snickers  fum  gittin’  up  a ’sturbance 
’mong*-de  congergashun.  But,  never  mine  dat,  old 
Brer  Babbit,  he  wuz  dar,  en  he  so  brash  dat  leetle  mo’ 
en  he’d  er  grab  up  de  sludge-hammer  en  er  open  up  de 
racket  ’fo’  ennybody  gun  de  word  ; but  Brer  Fox,  he 
shove  Brer  Babbit  out’n  de  way  en  pick  up  de  sludge 
hisse’f.  How  den,”  continued  the  old  man,  with  pretty 
much  the  air  of  one  who  had  been  the  master  of  similar 
ceremonies,  “ de  progance  wuz  dish  yer  : Eve’y  gent 
wer  ter  have  th’ee  licks  at  de  rock,  en  de  gent  w’at  fetch 
de  dus’  he  wer  de  one  w’at  gwineter  take  de  pick  er  de 
gals.  Ole  Brer  Fox,  he  grab  de  sludge-hammer,  he  did, 


HOW  MR.  RABBIT  SUCCEEDED  IN  RAISING  A DUST.  149 

en  lie  come  down  on  de  rock — blim  ! No  dus’  ain’t 
come.  Den  he  draw  back  en  down  he  come  ag’in — 

blam ! No  dus’  ain’t  come. 
Den  he  spit  in  his  ban’s,  en 


blap  ! En  yit  no  dus’ 
ain’t  flew’d.  Den  Brer  Possum  he  make  triul,  en 
Brer  Coon,  en  all  de  ballunce  un  um  ’cep’  Brer  Tar- 
rypin,  en  he  ’low  dat  he  got  a crick  in  his  neck. 
Den  Brer  Babbit,  he  grab  holt  er  de  sludge,  en  he  lipt 
up  in  de  a’r  en  come  down  on  de  rock  all  at  de  same 
time — pow  ! — en  de  ashes,  dey  flew’d  up  so,  dey  did, 


150 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


dat  Brer  Fox,  he  tuck’n  had  a sneezin’  spell,  en  Miss 
Meadows  en  de  gals  dey  up’n  koff.  Th’ee  times  Brer 
Babbit  jump  up  en  crack  his  heels  tergedder  en  come 
down  wid  de  sludge-hammer — Jcer-blam  ! — en  eve’y 
time  he  jump  up,  he  holler  out : 

“ ‘ Stan’  fudder,  ladies  ! Yer  come  de  dus’ ! ’ en  sho 
nuff,  de  dus’  come. 

“ Leas’ ways,”  continued  Uncle  Bemus,  “Brer  Bab- 
bit got  one  er  de  gals,  en  dey  had  a weddin’  en  a big 
infa’r.” 

“ Which  of  the  girls  did  the  Babbit  marry  ? ” asked 
the  little  boy,  dubiously. 

“ I did  year  tell  un  ’er  name,”  replied  the  old  man, 
with  a great  affectation  of  interest,  “ but  look  like  I 
done  gone  en  fergit  it  off’n  my  mine.  Ef  I don’t  dis- 
remember,”  he  continued,  “ hit  wuz  Miss  Molly  Cotton- 
tail, en  I speck  we  better  let  it  go  at  dat.” 


XXXI. 

A PLANTATION  WITCH. 

The  next  time  the  little  boy  got  permission  to  call 
upon  Uncle  Bemus,  the  old  man  was  sitting  in  his 
door,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  and  he  appeared  to  be  in  great 
trouble. 


A PLANTATION  WITCH. 


151 


“ What’s  the  matter,  Uncle  Remus  \ ” the  youngster 
asked. 

“ Nufl:  de  matter,  honey — mo’  dan  dey’s  enny  kyo 
fer.  Ef  dey  ain’t  some  quare  gwines  on  ’roun’  dis 
place  I ain’t  name  Remus.” 

The  serious  tone  of  the  old  man  caused  the  little 
boy  to  open  his  eyes.  The  moon,  just  at  its  full,  cast 
long,  vague,  wavering  shadows  in  front  of  the  cabin. 
A colony  of  tree-frogs  somewhere  in  the  distance  were 
treating  their  neighbors  to  a serenade,  but  to  the  little 
boy  it  sounded  like  a chorus  of  lost  and  long-forgotten 
whistlers.  The  sound  was  wherever  the  imagination 
chose  to  locate  it — to  the  right,  to  the  left,  in  the  air, 
on  the  ground,  far  away  or  near  at  hand,  but  always 
dim  and  always  indistinct.  Something  in  Uncle  Re- 
mus’s tone  exactly  fitted  all  these  surroundings,  and  the 
child  nestled  closer  to  the  old  man. 

“ Yasser,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  with  an  ominous 
sigh  and  mysterious  shake  of  the  head,  “ ef  dey  ain’t 
some  quare  gwines  on  in  dish  yer  naberhood,  den  I’m 
de  ball-headest  creetur  ’twix’  dis  en  nex’  Jinawerry  wuz 
a year  ’go,  w’ich  I knows  I ain’t.  Dat’s  what.” 

“ What  is  it,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ I know  Mars  John  bin  drivin’  Cholly  sorter  hard 
ter-day,  en  I say  ter  myse’f  dat  I’d  drap  ’roun’  ’bout  dus’ 
en  fling  nudder  year  er  corn  in  de  troff  en  kinder  gin 
’im  a techin’  up  wid  de  kurrier-koam  ; en  bless  graslius  ! 
I ain’t  bin  in  de  lot  mo’n  a minnit  ’fo’  I seed  sump’n 


152 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


wuz  wrong  wid  de  hoss,  and  sho’  nuff  dar  wuz  his  mane 
full  er  witch-stirrups.” 

“ Full  of  what,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ Full  er  witch-stirrups,  honey.  Ain’t  you  seed  no 
witch-stirrups?  Well,  w’en  you  see  two  stran’  er  ha’r 
tied  tergedder  in  a hoss’s  mane,  dar  you  see  a witcli- 
stirrup,  en,  mo’n  dat,  dat  hoss  done  bin  rid  by  um.” 

“ Do  you  reckon  they  have  been  riding  Charley  ? ” 
inquired  the  little  boy. 

“ Co’se,  honey.  Tooby  sho  dey  is.  W’at  else  dey 
bin  doin’  ? ” 


“ Did  you  ever  see  a witch,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ Dat  ain’t  needer  yer  ner  dar.  W’en  I see  coon 

track  in  de  branch,  I know  de  coon  bin  ’long  dar.” 

The  argument  seemed  unanswerable,  and  the  little 
boy  asked,  in  a confidential  tone  : 

“ Uncle  Remus,  what  are  witches  like  ? ” 

“ Dey  comes  diffunt,”  responded  the  cautious  old 

darkey.  “Dey  comes  en 

dey  cunjus  fokes.  Squinch- 

owl  holler  eve’y  time  he  see  a 
witch,  en  w’en  you  hear  de 
dog  howlin’  in  de  middle  er  de 

O 

night,  one  un  urn’s  mighty  ap* 
ter  be  prowlin’  ’roun’.  Cunjun  fokes 
kin  tell  a witch  de  minnit  dey  lays  der 
eyes  on  it,  but  dem  w’at  ain’t  cunjun,  hit’s 
mighty  hard  ter  tell  w’en  dey  see  one,  kaze  dey  might 


A PLANTATION  WITCH. 


153 


come  in  de  ’pearunce  un  a cow  en  all  kinder  cree- 
turs.  I ain’t  bin  useter  no  cunjun  myse’f,  but  I bin 
livin’  long  nuff  fer  ter  know  w’en  you  meets  up  wid 
a big  black  cat  in  de  middle  er  de  road,  wid  yaller 
eyeballs,  dars  yo’  witch  fresh 
fum  de  Ole  Boy.  En,  fudder- 
ino\  I know  dat  ’tain’t 


proned 
inter  no 
dogs  fer 
ter  ketch  de  rabbit 
w’at  use  in  a berryin’- 
groun’.  Dey  er  de  mos’  ongodlies’  creeturs  w’at  you 
ever  laid  eyes  on,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  with  unc- 
tion. “ Down  dar  in  Putmon  County  yo’  Unk  Jeems, 
he  make  like  he  gwineter  ketch  wunner  dem  dar  grave- 
yard rabbits.  Sho  nuff,  out  he  goes,  en  de  dogs  ain’t 
12 


154 


LEGENDS  OF  TI1E  OLD  PLANTATION. 


no  mo’n  got  ter  de  place  fo’  up  jump  de  old  rabbit  right 
’mong  um,  en  atter  runnin’  ’roun’  a time  or  two,  she 
skip  right  up  ter  Mars  Jeems,  en  Mars  Jeems,  he  des 
put  de  gun-bairl  right  on  ’er  en  lammed  aloose.  Hit 
tored  up  de  groun’  all  ’roun’,  en  de  dogs,  dey  rush  up, 
but  dey  wa’n’t  no  rabbit  dar  ; but  bimeby  Mars  Jeems, 
he  seed  de  dogs  tuckin’  der  tails  ’tween  der  legs,  en  he 
look  up,  en  dar  wuz  de  rabbit  caperin’  ’roun’  on  a toom- 
stone,  en  wid  dat  Mars  Jeems  say  he  sorter  feel  like  de 
time  done  come  w’en  yo’  gran’ma  was  ’specktin’  un  him 
home,  en  he  call  off  de  dogs  en  put  out.  But  dem  wuz 
ha’nts.  Witches  is  deze  yer  kinder  fokes  wat  kin  drap 
der  body  en  change  inter  a cat  en  a wolf  en  all  kinder 
creeturs.” 

“ Papa  says  there  ain’t  any  witches,”  the  little  boy 
interrupted. 

“ Mars  John  ain’t  live  long  ez  I is,”  said  Uncle 
Remus,  by  way  of  comment.  “ He  ain’t  bin  broozin’ 
’roun’  all  hours  er  de  night  en  day.  I know’d  a nigger 
w’ich  his  brer  wuz  a witch,  kaze  he  up’n  tole  me  how 
he  tuck’n  kyo’d  ’im  ; en  he  kyo’d  ’im  good,  mon.” 

“ How  was  that  ? ” inquired  the  little  boy. 

“ Hit  seem  like,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  “ dat 
witch  fokes  is  got  a slit  in  de  back  er  de  neck,  en  w’en 
dey  wanter  change  derse’f,  dey  des  pull  de  hide  over 
der  head  same  ez  if  ’twuz  a shut,  en  dar  dey  is.” 

“ Do  they  get  out  of  their  skins  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy,  in  an  awed  tone. 


“ Yer  come  a great  big  black  wolf.” 


A PLANTATION  WITCH. 


155 


“ Tooby  sho,  honey.  Yon  see  yo’  pa  pull  his  shut 
off  ? Well,  dat  dez  ’zackly  de  way  dey  duz.  But  dish 
yere  nigger  w’at  I’m  tellin’  you  ’bout,  he  kyo’d  his  brer 
de  ve’y  fus  pass  he  made  at  him.  Hit  got  so  dat  fokes 
in  de  settlement  didn’t  have  no  peace.  De  chilluns  ’ud 
wake  up  in  de  mawnins  wid  der  ha’r  tangle  up,  en  wid 
scratches  on  um  like  dey  bin  thoo  a brier-patch,  twel 
bimeby  one  day  de  nigger  he  ’low  dat  he’d  set  up  dat 
night  en  keep  one  eye  on  his  brer;  en  sho’  nuff  dat 
night,  des  ez  de  chickens  wuz  crowin’  fer  twelve,  up 
jump  de  brer  an  pull  off  his  skin  en  sail  out’n  de  house 
in  de  shape  un  a bat,  en  w’at  duz  de  nigger  do  but  grab 
up  de  hide,  en  turn  it  wrongsudout’ards  en  sprinkle  it 
wid  salt.  Den  he  lay  down  en  watch  fer  ter  see  w’at 
de  news  wuz  gwineter  be.  D^s  ’fo’  day  yer  come  a big 
black  cat  in  de  do’,  en  de  nigger  git  up,  he  did,  en 
druv  her  away.  Bimeby,  yer  come  a big  black  dog 
snuffin’  roun’,  en  de  nigger  up  wid  a chunk  en  lammed 
’im  side  er  de  head.  Den  a squinch-owl  lit  on  de  koam 
er  de  house,  en  de  nigger  jam  de  shovel  in  de  fier  en 
make  ’im  flew  away.  Las’,  yer  come  a great  big  black 
wolf  wid  his  eyes  shinin’  like  fier  coals,  en  he  grab  de 
hide  and  rush  out.  ’Twa’n’t  long  ’fo’  de  nigger  year 
his  brer  holler’n  en  squallin’,  en  he  tuck  a light,  he  did, 
en  went  out,  en  dar  wuz  his  brer  des  a wTaller’n  on  de 
groun’  en  squirmin’  ’roun’,  kaze  de  salt  on  de  skin  wuz 
stingin’  wuss’n  ef  he  had  his  britches  lineded  wid 
yaller- jackets.  By  nex’  mawnin’  he  got  so  he  could 


156 


LEGENDS  OF  TI1E  OLD  PLANTATION. 


sorter  shuffle  ’long,  but  he  gun  up  cunjun,  en  ef  dere 
wuz  enny  mo’  witches  in  dat  settlement  dey  kep’ 
mighty  close,  en  dat  nigger  he  ain’t  skunt  hisse’f  no 
mo’  not  endurin’  er  my  ’membunce.” 

The  result  of  this  was  that  Uncle  Remus  had  to 
take  the  little  boy  by  the  hand  and  go  with  him  to 
the  “ big  house,”  which  the  old  man  was  not  loath  to 
do ; and,  when  the  child  went  to  bed,  he  lay  awake  a 
long  time  expecting  an  unseemly  visitation  from  some 
mysterious  source.  It  soothed  him,  however,  to  hear 
the  strong,  musical  voice  of  his  sable  patron,  not  very 
far  away,  tenderly  contending  with  a lusty  tune ; and 
to  this  accompaniment  the  little  boy  dropped  asleep : 

“ Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d,  forty-en-eight, 

Christ  done  made  dat  crooked  way  straight — 

En  1 don’t  wanter  stay  here  no  longer ; 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d,  forty-en-nine, 

Christ  done  turn  dat  water  inter  wine — 

En  I don’t  wanter  stay  here  no  longer.” 


XXXII. 

“ JAGKY-MY-LANTERN * 

Upon  his  next  visit  to  Uncle  Remus,  the  little  boy 
was  exceedingly  anxious  to  know  more  about  witches, 


* This  story  is  popular  on  the  coast  and  among  the  rice-planta- 
tions, and,  since  the  publication  of  some  of  the  animal-myths  in  the 


JACKY-MY-LANTERN.’ 


157 


but  the  old  man  prudently  refrained  from  exciting  the 
youngster’s  imagination  any  further  in  that  direction. 
Uncle  Remus  had  a board  across  his  lap,  and,  armed 
with  a mallet  and  a shoe-knife,  was  engaged  in  making 
shoe-pegs. 

“ W’iles  I wuz  crossin’  de  branch  des  now,”  he 
said,  endeavoring  to  change  the  subject,  “ I come  up 
wid  a Jacky-my-lantern,  en  she  wuz  bu’nin’  wuss’n  a 
bunch  er  lightnin’-bugs,  mon.  I know’d  she  wuz  a 
fixin’  fer  ter  lead  me  inter  dat  quogmire  down  in  de 
swamp,  en  I steer’d  cle’r  un  ’er.  Yasser.  I did  dat. 
You  ain’t  never  seed  no  Jacky-my-lan terns,  is  you, 
honey  ? ” 

The  little  boy  never  had,  but  he  had  heard  of  them, 
and  he  wanted  to  know  what  they  were,  and  thereupon 
Uncle  Remus  proceeded  to  tell  him. 

“ One  time,”  said  the  old  darkey,  transferring  his 
spectacles  from  his  nose  to  the  top  of  his  head  and 
leaning  his  elbows  upon  his  peg-board,  “ dere  wuz  a 
blacksmif  man,  en  dish  yer  blacksmif  man,  he  tuck’n 
stuck  closer  by  his  dram  dan  he  did  by  his  bellus. 
Monday  mawnin’  he’d  git  on  a spree,  en  all  dat  week 
he’d  be  on  a spree,  en  de  nex’  Monday  mawnin’  he’d 
take  a fresh  start.  Bimeby,  one  day,  atter  de  black- 

newspapers,  I have  received  a version  of  it  from  a planter  in  south- 
west Georgia ; but  it  seems  to  me  to  be  an  intruder  among  the 
genuine  myth-stories  of  the  negroes.  It  is  a trifle  too  elaborate. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  told  upon  the  plantations  with  great  gusto,  and 
there  are  several  versions  in  circulation. 


158  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

smif  bin  spreein’  ’roun’  en  cussin’  might’ly,  be  bear  a 
sorter  rustlin’  fuss  at  de  do’,  en  in  walk  de  Bad  Man.” 

“ Wbo,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” tbe  little  boy  asked. 

“ De  Bad  Man,  boney ; de  Ole  Boy  hisse’f  right 
fresh  from  de  ridjun  w’at  you  year  Miss  Sally  readin’ 
’bout.  He  done  bide  his  bawns,  en  bis  tail,  en  bis 
hoof,  en  be  come  dress  up  like  w’ite  fokes.  He  tuck 
off  his  bat  en  be  bow,  en  den  be  tell  de  blacksmif  who 
be  is,  en  dat  be  done  come  atter  ’im.  Den  de  black- 
smif, be  gun  ter  cry  en  beg,  en  he  beg  so  bard  en  he 
cry  so  loud  dat  de  Bad  Man  say  be  make  a trade  wid 
’im.  At  de  een’  er  one  year  de  sperit  er  de  blacksmif 
wuz  to  be  his’n  en  endurin’  er  dat  time  de  blacksmif 
mus’  put  in  bis  hottes’  licks  in  de  intruss  er  de  Bad 
Man,  en  den  be  put  a spell  on  de  cheer  de  blacksmif 
was  settin’  in,  en  on  his  sludge-hammer.  De  man 
w’at  sot  in  de  cheer  couldn’t  git  up  less’n  de  black- 
smif let  ’im,  en  de  man  w’at  pick  up  de  sludge  ’ud 
batter  keep  on  knockin’  wid  it  twel  de  blacksmif  say 
quit ; en  den  be  gun  ’im  money  plenty,  en  off  be  put. 

“ De  blacksmif,  be  sail  in  fer  ter  have  bis  fun,  en  be 
have  so  much  dat  be  done  clean  forgot  ’bout  bis  con- 
track,  but  bimeby,  one  day  be  look  down  de  road,  en 
dar  be  see  de  Bad  Man  cornin’,  en  den  he  know’d  de 
year  wuz  out.  W’en  de  Bad  Man  got  in  de  do’,  de 
blacksmif  wuz  poundin’  ’way  at  a hoss-shoe,  but  he 
wa’n’t  so  bizzy  dat  be  didn’t  ax  ’im  in.  De  Bad  Man 
sorter  do  like  be  ain’t  got  no  time  fer  ter  tarry,  but  de 


JACKY-MY-LANTERN.” 


159 


blacksmif  say  he  got  some  little  jobs  dat  he  bleedzd  ter 
finish  up,  en  den  he  ax  de  Bad  Man  fer  ter  set  down  a 
minnit;  en  de  Bad  Man,  he 
tuck’n  sot  down,  en  he  sot  / 

in  dat  cheer  w’at  he  


fun  at  de  Bad  Man, 
en  he  ax  him  don’t  he 
want  a dram,  en  won’t  he  hitch  his  cheer  up  little 
nigher  de  fier,  en  de  Bad  Man,  he  beg  en  he  beg, 
but  ’twan’t  doin’  no  good,  kase  de  blacksmif  ’low 
dat  he  gwineter  keep  ’im  dar  twel  he  promus  dat  he 
let  ’im  off  one  year  mo’,  en,  sho  nuff,  de  Bad  Man 
promus  dat  ef  de  blacksmif  let  ’im  up  he  give  ’im 


160  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 

a n’er  showin’.  So  den  de  blacksmif  gun  de  wud,  en 
de  Bad  Man  sa’nter  off  down  de  big  road,  settin’ 
traps  en  layin’  his  progance  fer  ter  ketch  mo’  sinners. 

“ De  nex’  year  hit  pass  same  like  t’er  one.  At  de 
’p’inted  time  yer  come  de  Ole  Boy  atter  de  blacksmif, 
but  still  de  blacksmif  had  some  jobs  dat  he  bleedzd  ter 
finish  up,  en  he  ax  de  Bad  Man  fer  ter  take  holt  er  de 
sludge  en  he’p  ’im  out ; en  de  Bad  Man,  he  ’low  dat 
r’er’n  be  disperlite,  he  don’t  keer  ef  he  do  hit  ’er  a biff 
er  two ; en  wid  dat  he  grab  up  de  sludge,  en  dar  he 
wuz  ’gin,  kase  he  done  conju’d  de  sludge  so  dat  who- 
somedever  tuck  ’er  up  can’t  put  ’er  down  less’n  de 
blacksmif  say  de  wud.  Dey  perlaver’d  dar,  dey  did, 
twel  bimeby  de  Bad  Man  he  up’n  let  ’im  off  n’er 
year. 

“ Well,  den,  dat  year  pass  same  ez  t’er  one.  Mont’ 
in  en  mont’  out  dat  man  wuz  rollin’  in  dram,  en 
bimeby  yer  come  de  Bad  Man.  De  blacksmif  cry  en 
he  holler,  en  he  rip  ’roun’  en  t’ar  his  ha’r,  but  hit  des 
like  he  didn’t,  kase  de  Bad  Man  grab  ’im  up  en  cram 
’im  in  a bag  en  tote  ’im  off.  W’iles  dey  wuz  gwine 
’long  dey  come  up  wid  a passel  er  fokes  w’at  wuz 
havin’  wunner  deze  yer  fote  er  July  bobby  cues,  en  de 
Ole  Boy,  he  ’low  dat  maybe  he  kin  git  some  mo’  game, 
en  w’at  do  he  do  but  jine  in  wid  um.  He  jines  in  en 
he  talk  politics  same  like  t’er  fokes,  twel  bimeby  din- 
nertime come  ’roun’,  en  dey  ax  ’im  up,  w’ich  ’greed 
wid  his  stummuck,  en  he  pozzit  his  bag  underneed  de 


“ jacky-my-lantern; 


161 


table  ’longside  de  udder  bags  w’at  de  hongry  fokes’d 
brung. 

u No  sooner  did  de  blacksmif  git  back  on  de  groun’ 
dan  he  ’gun  ter  wuk  his  way  outer  de  bag.  He  crope 
out,  he  did,  en  den  he  tuck’n  change  de  bag.  He 
tuck’n  tuck  a 11’er  bag  en  lay  it  down  whar  dish  yer 
bag  wuz,  en  den  he  crope  outer  de  crowd  en  lay  low  in 
de  underbresh. 

“ Las’,  w’en  de  time  come  fer  ter  go,  de  Ole  Boy  up 
wid  his  bag  en  slung  her  on  his  shoulder,  en  off  he  put 
fer  de  Bad  Place.  W’en  he  got  dar  he  tuck’n  drap  de 
bag  off’n  his  back  en  call  up  de  imps,  en  dey  des  come 
a squallin’  en  a caperin’,  w’ich  I speck  dey  mus’  a bin 
hongry.  Leas’ ways  dey  des  swawm’d  ’roun’,  hollerin 
out : 

“ 4 Daddy,  w’at  you  brung — daddy,  w’at  you  brung  ? ’ 

“ So  den  dey  open  de  bag,  en  lo  en  beholes,  out 
jump  a big  bull-dog,  en  de  way  he  shuck  dem  little 
imps  wuz  a caution,  en  he  kep’  on  gnyawin’  un  um 
twel  de  Ole  Boy  open  de  gate  en  tu’n  ’im  out.” 

“ And  what  became  of  the  blacksmith  ? ” the  little 
boy  asked,  as  Uncle  Bemus  paused  to  suuff  the  candle 
with  his  fingers. 

“ I’m  drivin’  on  ’roun’,  honey.  Atter  ’long  time, 
de  blacksmif  he  tuck’n  die,  en  w’en  he  go  ter  de  Good 
Place  de  man  at  de  gate  dunner  who  he  is,  en  he  can’t 
squeeze  in.  Den  he  go  down  ter  de  Bad  Place,  en 
knock.  De  Ole  Boy,  he  look  out,  he  did,  en  he 


162 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


know’d  de  blacksmif  de  minnit  he  laid  eyes  on  ’im ; 
but  he  shake  his  head  en  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ You’ll  hatter  skuze  me,  Brer 

Blacksmif,  kase  I dun  had  ’speunce 

’longer  you.  You’ll  hatter  go  som- 
e’rs  else  ef  you  wanter  raise 
my  racket,’  sezee,  en  wid 
dat  he  sliet  de  do’. 

En  dey  do  say,”  continued 
Uncle  Bemus,  with  unc- 

tion, “ dat  sence  dat  day 
de  blacksmif  bin  sorter 
huv’rin’  ’roun’  ’twix’ 
de  heavens  en  de 
ye’th,  en  dark  nights 
he  shine  out  so  fokes 
call  ’im  Jacky-my-lan- 
tun.  Dat’s  w’at  dey 

tells  me.  Hit  may  be 
wrong  er’t  maybe  right, 
but  dat’s  w’at  I years.” 


WHY  THE  NEGRO  IS  BLACK. 


1G3 


XXXIII. 

WHY  THE  NEGRO  IS  BLACK. 

One  night,  while  the  little  boy  was  watching  Uncle 
Remus  twisting  and  waxing  some  shoe-thread,  he  made 
what  appeared  to  him  to  be  a very  curious  discovery. 
He  discovered  that  the  palms  of  the  old  man’s  hands 
were  as  white  as  his  own,  and  the  fact  was  such  a source 
of  wonder  that  he  at  last  made  it  the  subject  of  remark. 
The  response  of  Uncle  Remus  led  to  the  earnest  recital 
of  a piece  of  unwritten  history  that  must  prove  inter- 
esting to  ethnologists. 

“ Tooby  sho  de  pa’m  er  my  han’s  w’ite,  honey,”  he 
quietly  remarked,  u en,  w’en  it  come  ter  dat,  dey  wuz 
a time  w’en  all  de  w’ite  folks  ’uz  black — blacker  dan 
me,  kaze  I done  bin  yer  so  long  dat  I bin  sorter  bleach 
out.” 

The  little  boy  laughed.  He  thought  Uncle  Remus 
was  making  him  the  victim  of  one  of  his  jokes  ; but 
the  youngster  was  never  more  mistaken.  The  old 
man  was  serious.  Nevertheless,  he  failed  to  rebuke 
the  ill-timed  mirth  of  the  child,  appearing  to  be  alto- 
gether engrossed  in  his  work.  After  a while  he  re- 
sumed : 

“ Yasser.  Fokes  dunner  w’at  bin  yit,  let  ’lone  wT’at 
gwineter  be.  Niggers  is  niggers  now,  but  de  time  wuz 
w’en  we  ’uz  all  niggers  tergedder.” 


164: 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ When  was  that,  Uncle  Bemus  ? ” 

“ Way  back  yander.  In  dem  times  we  ’uz  all  un 
us  black ; we  ’uz  all  niggers  tergedder,  en  ’cordin’  ter 
all  de  ’counts  w’at  I years  fokes  ’uz  gittin  ’long  ’bout  ez 
well  in  dem  days  ez  dey  is  now.  But  atter  ’w’ile  de 
news  come  dat  dere  wuz  a pon’  er  water  some’rs  in  de 
naberhood,  w’ich  ef  dey’d  git  inter  dey’d  be  wash  off 
nice  en  w’ite,  en  den  one  un  um,  he  fine  de  place  en 
make  er  splunge  inter  de  pon’,  en  come  out  w’ite  ez  a 
town  gal.  En  den,  bless  graslius  ! w’en  de  fokes  seed  - 
it,  dey  make  a break  fer  de  pon’,  en  dem  w’at  wuz  ae 
soopless,  dey  got  in  fus’  en  dey  come  out  w’ite  ; end  m 
w’at  wuz  de  nex’  soopless,  dey  got  in  nex’,  en  dey  come 
out  merlatters ; en  dey  wuz  sech  a crowd  un  um  dat 
. dey  mighty  nigh  use  de  water  up,  w’ich  w’en  dem 
yuthers  come  ’long,  de  morest  dey  could  do  wuz  ter 
paddle  about  wid  der  foots  en  dabble  in  it  wid  der 
hail’s.  Dem  wuz  de  niggers,  en  down  ter  dis  day  dey 
ain’t  no  w’ite  ’bout  a nigger  ’ceppin  de  pa’ms  er  der 
han’s  en  de  soles  er  der  foot.” 

The  little  boy  seemed  to  be  very  much  interested  in 
this  new  account  of  the  origin  of  races,  and  he  made 
some  further  inquiries,  which  elicited  from  Uncle  Be- 
mus  the  following  additional  particulars  : 

“ De  Injun  en  de  Chinee  got  ter  be  ’counted  ’long 
er  de  merlatter.  I ain’t  seed  no  Chinee  dat  I knows 
un,  but  dey  tells  me  dey  er  sorter  ’twix’  a brown  en  a 
brindle.  Dey  er  all  merlatters.” 


THE  SAD  FATE  OF  MR.  FOX. 


165 


“ But  mamma  says  the  Chinese  have  straight  hair,”  * 
the  little  boy  suggested. 

“ Co’se,  honey,”  the  old  man  unhesitatingly  re- 
sponded, “ dem  w’at  git  ter  de  pon’  time  nuff  fer  ter 
git  der  head  in  de  water,  de  water  hit  onkink  der  ha’r. 
Hit  bleedzd  ter  be  dat  away.” 


xxxiv. 

THE  SAD  FATE  OF  MR.  FOX. 

“ How,  den,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  with  unusual 
gravity,  as  soon  as  the  little  boy,  by  taking  his  seat, 
announced  that  he  was  ready  for  the  evening’s  enter- 
tainment to  begin ; “ now,  den,  dish  yer  tale  w’at  I’m 
agwine  ter  gin  you  is  de  las’  row  er  stumps,  sho.  Dish 
yer’s  whar  ole  Brer  Fox  los’  his  breff,  en  he  ain’t  fine  it 
no  mo’  down  ter  dis  day.” 

“ Did  he  kill  himself,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” the  little  boy 
asked,  with  a curious  air  of  concern. 

“ Hole  on  dar,  honey  ! ” the  old  man  exclaimed, 
with  a great  affectation  of  alarm  ; “ hole  on  dar  ! 
Wait ! Gimme  room  ! I don’t  wan  ter  tell  you  no 
story,  en  ef  you  keep  shovin’  me  forrerd,  I mout  git 
some  er  dp  facks  mix  up  ’mong  deyse’f.  You  gotter 
gimme  room  en  you  gotter  gimme  time.” 

The  little  boy  had  no  other  premature  ques- 


166 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


tions  to  ask,  and,  after  a pause,  Uncle  Remus  re- 
sumed : 

“ Well,  den,  one  day  Brer  Rabbit  go  ter  Brer  Fox 
house,  he  did,  en  he  put  up  mighty  po’  mouf.  He  say 
his  ole  ’oman  sick,  en  his  chilluns  cole,  en  de  her  done 
gone  out.  Brer  Fox,  he  feel  bad  ’bout  dis,  en  he  tuck’n 
s’ply  Brer  Rabbit  widder  chunk  er  her.  Brer  Rabbit 
see  Brer  Fox  cookin’  some  nice  beef,  en  his  mouf  gun 
ter  water,  but  he  take  de  her,  he  did,  en  he  put  out 
to’rds  home  ; but  present’y  yer  he  come  back,  en  he  say 
de  her  done  gone  out.  Brer  Fox  ’low  dat  he  want  er 
invite  to  dinner,  but  he  don’t  say  nuthin’,  en  bimeby 
Brer  Rabbit  he  up’n  say,  sezee  : 

“ ‘ Brer  Fox,  whar  you  git  so  much  nice  beef?’ 
sezee,  en  den  Brer  Fox  he  up’n  ’spon’,  sezee  : 

“ ‘ You  come  ter  my  house  ter-morrer  ef  yo’  fokes 
ain’t  too  sick,  en  I kin  show  you  whar  you  kin  git 
plenty  beef  mo’  nicer  dan  dish  yer,’  sezee  : 

“ Well,  sho  miff,  de  nex’  day  fotch  Brer  Rabbit,  en 
Brer  Fox  say,  sezee  : 

“ ‘ Der’s  a man  down  yander  by  Miss  Meadows’s 
w’at  got  heap  er  fine  cattle,  en  he  gotter  cow  name 
Bookay,’  sezee,  ’en  you  des  go  en  say  Bookay , en  she’ll 
open  her  mouf,  en  you  kin  jump  in  en  git  des  as  much 
meat  ez  you  kin  tote,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

“ 4 Well,  I’ll  go  ’long,’  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  ‘en 
you  kin  jump  fus’  en  den  I’ll  come  follerin’  atter,’  sezee. 

“ Wid  dat  dey  put  out,  en  dey  went  promernadin’ 


THE  SAD  FATE  OF  MR.  FOX. 


167 


’roun’  ’mong  de  cattle,  dey  did,  twel  bimeby  dey  struck 
up  wid  de  one  dey  wuz  atter.  Brer  Fox,  he  up,  he  did, 


sezee. 

“ Den  Brer  Babbit,  he  holler  back,  he  did  : ‘ I’m  a 
gitten  me  out  a roas’n-piece,’  sezee. 

“ ‘Boas’n,  er  bakin’,  er  fryin’,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee, 
‘ don’t  git  too  nigh  de  haslett,’  sezee. 

“ Dey  cut  en  dey  kyarved,  en  dey  kyarved  en  dey 
cut,  en  w’iles  dey  wuz  cuttin’  en  kyarvin’,  en  slashin’ 
’way,  Brer  Babbit,  he  tuck’n  hacked  inter  de  haslett, 
en  wid  dat  down  fell  de  cow  dead. 


168  LEGENDS*  OF  "*T|1E  OLD  PLANTATION. 

“ ‘ Now,  den,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  ‘ we  er  gone,  sho,' 
sezee. 

“ ‘ W’at  we  gwine  do  ? ’ sez  Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

“‘I’ll  git  in  de  maul,’  sez  Brer  Fox,  ‘en  you’ll 
jump  in  de  gall,’  sezee. 

“ Nex’  mawnin’  yer  cum  de  man  w’at  de  cow 
b’long  ter,  an  he  ax  who  kill  Bookay.  Nobody  don’t 
say  nuthin’.  Den  de  man  say  he’ll  cut  ’er  open  en  see, 
en  den  he  whirl  in,  en  twan’t  no  time  ’fo’  he  had  ’er 
intruls  spread  out.  Brer  Babbit,  he  crope  out’n  de 
gall,  en  say,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Mister  Man  ! Oh,  Mister  Man  ! I’ll  tell  you 
who  kill  yo’  cow.  You  look  in  de  maul,  en  dar  you’ll 
fine  ’im,’  sezee. 

“ Wid  dat  de  man  tuck  a stick  and  lam  down  on  de 
maul  so  hard  dat  he  kill  Brer  Fox  stone-dead.  W’en 
Brer  Babbit  see  Brer  Fox  wuz  laid  out  fer  good,  he 
make  like  he  mighty  sorry,  en  he  up’n  ax  de  man  fer 
Brer  Fox  head.  Man  say  he  ain’t  keerin’,  en  den  Brer 
Babbit  tuck’n  brung  it  ter  Brer  Fox  house.  Dar  he 
see  ole  Miss  Fox,  en  he  tell  ’er  dat  he  done  fotch  her 
some  nice  beef  w’at  ’er  ole  man  sont  ’er,  but  she  ain’t 
gotter  look  at  it  twel  she  go  ter  eat  it. 

“ Brer  Fox  son  wuz  name  Tobe,  en  Brer  Babbit  tell 
Tobe  fer  ter  keep  still  w’iles  his  mammy  cook  de  nice 
beef  w’at  his  daddy  sont  ’im.  Tobe  he  wuz  mighty 
hongry,  en  he  look  in  de  pot  he  did  w’iles  de  cookin’ 
wuz  gwine  on,  en  dar  he  see  his  daddy  head,  en  wid 


169 


THE  SAD  FATE  OF*«MR.  FOX. 

i.k 

dat  he  sot  up  a howl  en  tole  hi§  ‘mammy.  Miss  Fox, 
she  git  mighty  mad  w’en  she  hue  she  cookin’  her  ole 
man  head,  en  she  call  up  de  dogs,  she  did,  en  sickt  em 
on  Brer  Babbit ; en  ole  Miss  Fox  en  Tobe  en  de  dogs, 
dey  push  Brer  Babbit  so  close  dat  he  hatter  take  a 
holler  tree.  Miss  Fox,  she  tell  Tobe  fer  ter  stay  dar 
en  mine  Brer  Babbit,  w’ile  she  goes  en  git  de  ax,  en 
w’en  she  gone,  Brer  Babbit,  he  tole  Tobe  ef  he  go  ter 
de  branch  en  git  ’im  a drink  er  water  dat  he’ll  gin  ’im  a 
dollar.  Tobe,  he  put  out,  he  did,  en  bring  some  water 
in  his  hat,  but  by  de  time  he  got  back  Brer  Babbit 
done  out  en  gone.  Ole  Miss  Fox,  she  cut  and  cut  twel 
down  come  de  tree,  but  no  Brer  Babbit  dar.  Den  she 
lay  de  blame  on  Tobe,  en  she  say  she  gwineter  lash 
’im,  en  Tobe,  he  put  out  en  run,  de  ole  ’oman  atter 
’im.  Bimeby,  he  come  up  wid  Brer  Babbit,  en  sot 
down  fer  to  tell  ’im  how  ’twuz,  en  w’iles  dey  wuz  a 
settin’  dar,  yer  come  ole  Miss  Fox  a slippin’  up  en 
grab  um  bofe.  Den  she  tell  um  w’at  she  gwine  do. 
Brer  Babbit  she  gwineter  kill,  en  Tobe  she  gwineter 
lam  ef  its  de  las’  ack.  Den  Brer  Babbit  sez,  sezee : 

44  4 Ef  you  please,  ma’am,  Miss  Fox,  lay  me  on  de 
grinestone  en  groun’  off  my  nose  so  I can’t  smell  no 
mo’  w’en  I’m  dead.’ 

44  Miss  Fox,  she  tuck  dis  ter  be  a good  idee,  en  she 
fotch  bofe  un  um  ter  de  grinestone,  en  set  um  up  on 
it  so  dat  she  could  groun’  off  Brer  Babbit  nose.  Den 
Brer  B abbit,  he  up’n  say,  sezee : 


170  LEGENDS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


“ 4 Ef  yon  please,  ma’am,  Miss  Fox,  Tobe  he  kin 
turn  de  handle  w’iles  you  goes  atter  some  water  fer  ter 
wet  de  grinestone,’  sezee. 

“ Co’se,  soon’z  Brer 
Rabbit  see  Miss  Fox  go 


atter  de  water,  he  jump  down  en  put  out,  en  dis  time 
he  git  clean  away.” 

“And  was  that  the  last  of  the  Rabbit,  too,  Uncle 
Remus?”  the  little  boy  asked,  with  something  like  a 
sigh. 

“ Don’t  push  me  too  close,  honey,”  responded  the 
old  man  ; “ don’t  shove  me  up  in  no  cornder.  I don’t 
wanter  tell  you  no  stories.  Some  say  dat  Brer  Rab- 


THE  SAD  FATE  OF  ME.  FOX. 


171 


bit’s  ole  ’oman  died  fum  eatin’  some  pizen-weed,  en  dat 
Brer  Rabbit  married  ole  Miss  Fox,  en  some  say  not. 
Some  tells  one  tale  en  some  tells  n udder ; some  say  dat 
fum  dat  time  forrer’d  de  Rabbits  en  de  Foxes  make 
frien’s  en  stay  so ; some  say  dey  kep  on  quollin’.  Hit 
look  like  it  mixt.  Let  dem  tell  you  w’at  knows.  Dat 
w’at  I years  you  gits  it  straight  like  I yeard  it.” 

There  was  a long  pause,  which  was  finally  broken 
by  the  old  man  : 

“ Hit’s  ’gin  de  rules  fer  you  ter  be  noddin’  yer, 
honey.  Bimeby  you’ll  drap  off  en  I’ll  hatter  tote  you 
up  ter  de  big  ’ouse.  I hear  dat  baby  cryin’,  en  bimeby 
Miss  Sally’ll  fly  up  en  be  a holler’n  atter  you.” 

“ Oh,  I wasn’t  asleep,”  the  little  boy  replied.  “ I 
was  just  thinking.” 

“ Well,  dat’s  diffunt,”  said  the  old  man.  “ Ef 
you’ll  clime  up  on  my  back,”  he  continued,  speaking 
softly,  “ I speck  I ain’t  too  ole  fer  ter  be  yo’  hoss  fum 
yer  ter  de  house.  Many  en  many’s  de  time  dat  I toted 
yo’  IJnk  Jeems  dat  away,  en  Mars  Jeems  wuz  heavier 
sot  dan  w’at  you  is.” 


PLANTATION  PROVERBS. 


Big  ’possum  clime  little  tree. 

Dem  w’at  eats  kin  say  grace. 

Ole  man  Know-All  died  las’  year. 
Better  de  gravy  dan  no  grease  ’tall. 
Dram  ain’t  good  twel  you  git  it. 

Lazy  fokes’  stummucks  don’t  git  tired. 
Bheumatiz  don’t  he’p  at  de  log-rollin’. 

(173) 


174 


PLANTATION  PROVERBS. 


Mole  don’t  see  w’at  his  naber  doin’. 

Save  de  pacin’  mar’  fer  Sunday. 

Don’t  rain  eve’y  time  de  pig  squeal. 

Crow  en  corn  can’t  grow  in  de  same  fiel’. 

Tattlin’  ’oman  can’t  make  de  bread  rise. 

Rails  split  ’fo’  bre’kfus’  ’ll  season  de  dinner. 

Dem  w’at  knows  too  much  sleeps  under  de  ash-hopper. 
Ef  you  wanter  see  yo’  own  sins,  clean  up  a new  groun’. 
Hog  dunner  w’ich  part  un  ’im’ll  season  de  turnip  salad. 
Hit’s  a blessin’  de  w’ite  sow  don’t  shake  de  plum-tree. 
Winter  grape  sour,  whedder  you  kin  reach  ’im  or  not. 
Mighty  po’  bee  dat  don’t  make  mo’  honey  dan  he  want. 
Kwishins  on  mule’s  foots  done  gone  out  er  fashun. 

Pigs  dunno  w’at  a pen’s  fer. 

Possum’s  tail  good  as  a paw. 

Dogs  don’t  bite  at  de  front  gate. 

Colt  in  de  barley-patch  kick  high. 

Jay-bird  don’t  rob  his  own  nes’. 

Pullet  can’t  roost  too  high  for  de  owl. 

Meat  fried  ’fo’  day  won’t  las’  twel  night. 

Stump  water  won’t  kyo  de  gripes. 

De  howlin’  dog  know  w’at  he  sees. 

Bline  hoss  don’t  fall  w’en  he  follers  de  bit. 

Hongry  nigger  won’t  w’ar  his  maul  out. 

Don’t  fling  away  de  empty  wallet. 

Black-snake  know  de  way  ter  de  hin  nes’. 

Looks  won’t  do  ter  split  rails  wid. 

Settin’  hens  don’t  hanker  arter  fresh  aigs. 


PLANTATION  PROVERBS. 


175 


Tater-vine  growiir  w’ile  you  sleep. 

Hit  take  two  birds  fer  to  make  a nes’. 

Ef  you  bleedzd  ter  eat  dirt,  eat  clean  dirt. 

Tarrypin  walk  fast  ’nufi:  fer  to  go  visitin’. 

Empty  smoke-house  makes  de  pullet  holler. 

W’en  coon  take  water  he  fixin’  fer  ter  fight. 

Corn  makes  mo’  at  de  mill  dan  it  does  in  de  crib. 

Good  luck  say  : “ Op’n  yo’  mouf  en  shet  yo’ 
eyes.” 

Nigger  dat  gets  hurt  wukkin  oughter  show  de 
skyars. 

Fiddlin’  nigger  say  hit’s  long  ways  ter  de  dance. 

Rooster  makes  mo’  racket  dan  de  liin  w’at  lay 
de  aig. 

Meller  mush-million  hollers  at  you  fum  over  de 
fence. 

Nigger  wid  a pocket-han’kcher  better  be  looked 
atter. 

Rain-crow  don’t  sing  no  chune,  but  youk’n  ’pen’ 
on  ’im. 

One-eyed  mule  can’t  be  handled  on  de  bline  side. 

Moon  may  shine,  but  a lightered  knot’s  mighty 
handy. 

Licker  talks  mighty  loud  w’en  it  git  loose  fum  de 

jug- 

De  proudness  un  a man  don’t  count  w’en  his  head’s 
cold. 

Hongry  rooster  don’t  cackle  w’en  he  fine  a wum. 


176 


PLANTATION  PROVERBS. 


Some  niggers  mighty  smart,  but  dey  can’t  drive  de 
pidgins  ter  roos’. 

You  may  know  de  way,  but  better  keep  yo’  eyes  on 
de  seven  stairs. 

All  de  buzzards  in  de  settlement  ’ll  come  to  de  gray 
mule’s  funer’l. 

Youk’n  hide  de  tier,  but  w’at  you  gwine  do  wid  de 
smoke  ? 

Ter-morrow  may  be  de  carridge-driver’s  day  for 
^ ploughin’. 

Hit’s  a mighty  deaf  nigger  dat 
don’t  year  de  dinner-ho’n. 

Hit  takes  a bee  fer  ter  git  de 
sweetness  out’n  de  hoar-houn’  blos- 
som. 

Ha’nts  don’t  bodder  longer  hones’ 
folks,  but  you  better  go  ’roun’  de 
grave-yard. 

De  pig  dat  runs  off  wid  de 
year  er  corn  gits  little  mo’  dan 
de  cob. 

Sleepin’  in  de  fence-corn- 
der  don’t  fetch  Chrismus  in  de 
kitchen. 

xl  De  spring-house  may  freeze, 

but  de  niggers  ’ll  keep  de  shuck-pen  warm. 
’Twix’  de  bug  en  de  bee-martin  ’tain’t  hard  ter  tell 
w’ich  gwineter  git  kotch. 


f 

\ 


PLANTATION  PROVERBS. 


177 


Don’t  ’spute  wid  de  squinch-owl.  Jam  de  shovel 
in  de  her. 

You’d  see  mo’  er  de  mink  ef  he  know’d  whar  de 
yard  dog  sleeps. 

Troubles  is  seasonin’.  ’Simmons  ain’t  good  twel 
dey  ’er  fros’-bit. 

Watch  out  w’en  you’er  gittin  all  you  want.  Fat- 
tenin’ hogs  ain’t  in  luck. 


HIS  SONGS. 


Oh,  wliar  shill  we  go  w’en  de  great  day 


REVIVAL  HYMN. 


comes, 


/ 


Wid  de  blowin’  er  de  trumpits  en  de 
bangin’  er  de  drums  ? 


How  many  po’  sinners’ll  be  kotched  out  late 
En  fine  no  latch  ter  de  golden  gate  ? 

Ho  use  fer  ter  wait  twel  ter-morrer ! 

De  sun  musn’t  set  on  yo’  sorrer, 

Sin’s  ez  sharp  ez  a bamboo-brier — 

Oh,  Lord  ! fetch  de  mo’ners  up  higher ! 

W’en  de  nashuns  er  de  earf  is  a stan’in  all  aroun’, 
Who’s  a gwineter  be  choosen  fer  ter  w’ar  de  glory- 
crown  ? 

Who’s  a gwine  fer  ter  stan’  stiff-kneed  en  bol’. 

En  answrer  to  der  name  at  de  callin’  er  de  roll  ? 

You  better  come  now  ef  you  cornin’ — 

Ole  Satun  is  loose  en  a bummin’ — 

De  wheels  er  distruckshun  is  a hummin’ — 

Oh,  come  ’long,  sinner,  ef  you  cornin’ ! 


(181) 


182 


HIS  SONGS. 


De  song  er  salvashun  is  a mighty  sweet  song, 

En  de  Pairidise  win’  blow  fnr  en  blow  strong, 

En  Aberham’s  bosom,  hit’s  saft  en  hit’s  wide, 

En  right  dar’s  de  place  whar  de  sinners  oughter  hide ! 
Oh,  you  nee’nter  be  a stoppin’  en  a lookin’ ; 

Ef  you  fool  wid  ole  Satun  you’ll  git  took  in  ; 
You’ll  hang  on  de  aidge  en  get  shook  in, 

Ef  you  keep  on  a stoppin’  en  a lookin’. 

De  time  is  right  now,  en  dish  yer’s  de  place — 

Let  de  sun  er  salvashun  shine  squar’  in  yo’  face ; 
Fight  de  battles  er  de  Lord,  fight  soon  en  fight  late, 
En  you’ll  allers  fine  a latch  ter  de  golden  gate. 

No  use  fer  ter  wait  twel  ter-morrer, 

De  sun  musn’t  set  on  yo’  sorrer — 

Sin’s  ez  sharp  ez  a bamboo-brier, 

Ax  de  Lord  fer  ter  fetch  you  up  higher ! 


ii. 


GAMP-MEETING  SONG* 

Oh,  de  worril  is  roun’  en  de  worril  is  wide — 
Lord  ! ’member  deze  chillun  in  de  mornin’ — 


* In  the  days  of  slavery,  the  religious  services  held  by  the 
negroes  who  accompanied  their  owners  to  the  camp-meetings  were 
marvels  of  earnestness  and  devotion. 


CAMP-MEETING  SONG. 


183 


Hit’s  a mighty  long  ways  up  de  mountain  side, 

En  dey  ain’t  no  place  fer  dem  sinners  fer  ter  hide, 
En  dey  ain’t  no  place  whar  sin  kin  abide, 

W’en  de  Lord  shill  come  in  de  mornin’ ! 

Look  up  en  look  aroun’, 

Fling  yo’  burden  on  de  groun’, 

Hit’s  a gittin’  mighty  close  on  ter  mornin’ ! 
Smoove  away  sin’s  frown — 

Retch  up  en  git  de  crown, 

W’at  de  Lord  will  fetch  in  de  mornin’  ! 

De  han’  er  ridem’shun,  hit’s  hilt  out  ter  you — 

Lord ! ’member  dem  sinners  in  de  mornin’ ! 

Hit’s  a mighty  pashent  han’,  but  de  days  is  but  few, 
W’en  Satun,  he’ll  come  a demandin’  un  his  due, 

En  de  stiff-neck  sinners  ’ll  be  smotin’  all  fru — 

Oh,  you  better  git  ready  fer  de  mornin’ ! 

Look  up  en  set  yo’  face 
Todes  de  green  hills  er  grace 
’Fo’  de  sun  rises  up  in  de  mornin’ — 

Oh,  you  better  change  yo’  base, 

Hits  yo’  soul’s  las’  race 
Fer  de  glory  dat’s  a cornin’  in  de  mornin’ ! 

De  farmer  gits  ready  w’en  de  Ian’s  all  plowed 
Fer  ter  sow  dem  seeds  in  de  mornin’ — 

De  sperrit  may  be  puny  en  de  flesh  may  be  proud, 
But  you  better  cut  loose  fum  de  scoffin’  crowd, 


184 


HIS  SONGS. 


En  jine  dese  Christuns  w’at’s  a cryin’  out  loud 
Fer  de  Lord  fer  ter  come  in  de  mornin’! 

Shout  loud  en  shout  long, 

Let  de  ekkoes  answer  strong, 

W’en  de  sun  rises  up  in  de  mornin’ ! 

Oh,  you  alters  will  be  wrong 
Twel  you  choose  ter  belong 
Ter  de  Marster  w’at’s  a cornin’  in  de  mornin’ ! 


hi. 

CORN-SHUCKING  SONG. 

Oh,  de  fus  news  you  know  de  day’ll  be  a breakin’ — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango ! *) 
An’  de  fier  be  a burnin’  en’  de  ash-cake  a bakin’, 
(Hey  O!  Hi  0!  Hp’n  down  de  Bango!) 

An’  de  hen’ll  be  a hollerin’  en  de  boss  ’ll  be  a wakin’- — 
(Hey  O!  Hi  O!  Up’n  down  de  Bango!) 
Better  git  up,  nigger,  en  give  yo’se’f  a shakin’ — 
(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann!) 

Oh,  honey!  w’en  you  see  dem  ripe  stars  a failin’ — 
(Hey  O!  Hi  O!  Up’n  down  de  Bango!) 


* So  far  as  I know,  “Bango”  is  a meaningless  term,  introduced 
on  account  of  its  sonorous  ruggedness. 


CORN-SHUCKING  SONG. 


185 


Oh,  honey ! w’en  you  year  de  rain-crow  a callin’ — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Oh,  honey  ! w’en  you  year  dat  red  calf  a bawlin’ — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Den  de  day  time’s  coinin’,  a creepin’  en  a crawlin’ — 

(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann !) 

Fer  de  los’  ell  en  yard  * is  a huntin’  fer  de  mornin’, 

(Hi  O ! git  ’long  ! go  ’way  !) 

En  she’ll  ketch  up  widdus  ’fo’  we  ever  git  dis  corn  in — • 
(Oh,  go  ’way,  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Oh,  honey  ! w’en  you  year  dat  tin  horn  a tootin’ — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Oh,  honey,  w’en  you  year  de  squinch  owl  a hootin’ — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Oh,  honey  ! w’en  you  year  dem  little  pigs  a rootin’ — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Right  den  she’s  a cornin’  a skippin’  en  a scootin’ — 

(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Oh,  honey,  w’en  you  year  dat  roan  mule  whicker — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

W’en  you  see  Mister  Moon  turnin’  pale  en  gittin’ 
sicker — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 


* The  sword  and  belt  in  the  constellation  of  Orion. 


186 


HIS  SONGS. 


Den  hit’s  time  fer  ter  handle  dat  corn  a little  quicker — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Ef  you  wanter  git  a smell  er  old  Marster’s  jug  er 
licker — 

(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Fer  de  los’  ell  en  yard  is  a huntin’  fer  de  mornin’ 

(Hi  O ! git  ’long  ! go  ’way !) 

En  she’ll  ketch  up  widdus  ’fo’  we  ever  git  dis  corn  in — 
(Oh,  go  ’way,  Sindy  Ann  !) 

You  niggers  ’cross  dar  ! you  better  stop  your  dancin’ — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Ho  use  fer  ter  come  a hingin’  un  yo’  “sha’n’ts”  in — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Ho  use  fer  ter  come  a hingin’  un  yo’  “ can’t’s  ” in — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Kaze  dey  ain’t  no  time  fer  yo’  pattin’  ner  yo’  prancin’ ! 
(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Mr.  Rabbit  see  de  Fox,  en  he  sass  um  en  jaws  um — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Mr.  Fox  ketch  de  Rabbit,  en  he  scratch  um  en  he 
claws  um — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

En  he  tar  oh  de  hide,  en  he  chaws  um  en  he 
gnyaws  um — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Same  like  gal  chawin’  sweet  gum  en  rozzum — 

(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann !) 


The  corn-shucking. 


CORN-SHUCKING  SONG. 


187 


Fer  de  los’  ell  en  yard  is  a huntin’  fer  de  mornin’ 

(Hi  O ! git  ’long  ! go  ’way  !) 

En  she’ll  ketch  up  widdus  ’fo’  we  ever  git  dis  corn  in — 
(Oh,  go  ’way,  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Oh,  work  on,  boys  ! give  deze  shucks  a mighty 
wringin’ — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

’Fo’  de  boss  come  aroun’  a dangin’  en  a dingin’ — 

(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Git  up  en  move  aroun’ ! set  dem  big  han’s  ter  swingin’ — 
(Hey  O ! Hi  O ! Up’n  down  de  Bango  !) 

Git  up’n  shout  loud  ! let  de  w’ite  folks  year  you  singin’ ! 
(Hi  O,  Miss  Sindy  Ann  !) 

Fer  de  los’  ell  en  yard  is  a huntin’  fer  de  mornin’ 

(Hi  O ! git  ’long  ! go  ’way  !) 

En  she’ll  ketch  up  widdus  ’fo’  we  ever  git  dis  corn  in. 
(Oh,  go  ’way  Sindy  Ann  !) 


188 


HIS  SONGS. 


IV. 

THE  PLOUGH-HANDS'  SONG. 

(Jasper  County — 1860.) 

Nigger  mighty  happy  w’en  he  layin’  by  co’n — 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

Nigger  mighty  happy  w’en  he  year  de  dinner-ho’n — 
Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

En  he  mo’  happy  still  w’en  de  night  draws  on — 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  des  ez  sho’s  you  bo’n  ! 

En  it’s  rise  up,  Primus  ! fetch  anudder  yell : 

Dat  ole  dun  cow’s  des  a sliakin’  up  ’er  bell, 

En  de  frogs  chunin’  up  ’fo’  de  jew  done  fell  : 

Good  night , Mr.  Killdee  ! I wish  you  mighty  well ! 
— Mr.  Killdee  ! I wish  you  mighty  well ! 

— I wish  you  mighty  well ! 

De  co’n  ’ll  be  ready  ’g'inst  dumplin  day — 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

But  nigger  gotter  watch,  en  stick,  en  stay — 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

Same  ez  de  bee-martin  watchin’  un  de  jay — - 
Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  ; 

Dat  sun’s  a slantin’  en  a slippin’  away  ! 

Den  it’s  rise  up,  Primus  ! en  gin  it  t’um  strong  ; 

De  cow’s  gwine  home  wid  der  ding-dang-dong — 


CHRISTMAS  PLAY-SONG. 


189 


Sling  in  anudder  tetch  er  de  ole-time  song  : 
Good-night , Mr.  Whijpperwill ! don't  stay  long  ! 
— Mr.  Whijpperwill ! don't  stay  long  ! 

— Don't  stay  long  ! 


Y. 


CHRISTMAS  PLAY-SONG. 

(Myrick  Place,  Putnam  County — 1858.) 

Hi  my  rinktum  ! Black  gal  sweet, 

Same  like  goodies  w’at  de  w’ite  folks  eat ; 

Ho  my  Riley  ! don’t  you  take’n  tell  ’er  name, 

En  den  ef  sumpin’  happen  you  won’t  ketch  de  blame  ; 
Hi  my  rinktum  ! better  take’n  hide  yo’  plum  ; 

Joree  don’t  holler  eve’y  time  he  fine  a wum. 

Den  it’s  hi  my  rinktum  ! 

Don’t  git  no  udder  man  ; 

En  it’s  ho  my  Riley  ! 

Fetch  out  Miss  Dilsey  Ann  ! 

Ho  my  Riley  ! Yaller  gal  fine  ; 

She  may  be  yone  but  she  oughter  be  mine  ! 

Hi  my  rinktum  ! Lemme  git  by, 

En  see  w’at  she  mean  by  de  cut  er  dat  eye  ! 

Ho  my  Riley  ! better  shet  dat  do’ — 

De  w’ite  folks  ’ll  b’leeve  we  er  t’arin  up  de  flo’. 


190 


HIS  SONGS. 


Den  it’s  ho  my  Riley  ! 

Come  a siftin’  up  ter  me  ! 

En  it’s  hi  my  rinktum  ! 

Dis  de  way  ter  twis’  yo’  knee  ! 

Hi  my  rinktum  ! Ain’t  de  eas’  gittin’  red  ? 

De  squinch  owl  shiver  like  he  wanter  go  ter  bed  ; 
Ho  my  Riley  ! but  de  gals  en  de  boys, 

Des  now  gittin’  so  dey  kin  sorter  make  a noise. 

Hi  my  rinktum  ! let  de  yaller  gal  ’lone  ; 

Riggers  don’t  hanker  arter  sody  in  de  pone. 

Den  it’s  hi  my  rinktum  ! 

Better  try  anudder  plan  ; 

An’  it’s  ho  my  Riley  ! 

Trot  out  Miss  Dilsey  Ann  ! 

Ho  my  Riley  ! In  de  happy  Chrismus’  time 
De  niggers  shake  der  cloze  a huntin’  fer  a dime. 

Hi  my  rinktum  ! En  den  dey  shake  der  feet, 

En  greaze  derse’f  wid  de  good  ham  meat. 

Ho  my  Riley  ! dey  eat  en  dey  cram, 

En  bimeby  ole  Miss  ’ll  be  a sendin’  out  de  dram. 

Den  it’s  ho  my  Riley  ! 

You  hear  dat,  Sam  ! 

En  it’s  hi  my  rinktum  ! 

Be  a sendin’  out  de  dram  ! 


PLANTATION  PLAY-SONG. 


191 


VI. 

PLANTATION  PLAY-SONG. 

(Putnam  County — 1856.) 

Hit’s  a gittin’  mighty  late,  w’en  de  Guinny-hins  squall, 
Eli  you  better  dance  now,  ef  you  gwineter  dance  a tall, 
Fer  by  dis  time  ter-morrer  night  you  can’t  hardly  crawl, 
Kaze  you’ll  hatter  take  de  hoe  ag’in  en  likewise  de 
maul — 

Don’t  you  hear  dat  bay  colt  a kickin’  in  his  stall  ? 

Stop  yo’  humpin’  up 
yo’  sho’lders — 

Dat’ll  never  do  ! 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo  ! 

Hit  takes  a heap  er 
scrougin’ 

Fer  ter  git  you 
thoo — 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo ! 

Ef  you  niggers  don’t  watch,  you’ll  sing  anudder 
chune, 

Fer  de  sun’ll  rise’n  ketch  you  ef  you  don’t  be  mighty 
soon  ; 

En  de  stars  is  gittin’  paler,  en  de  ole  gray  coon 
Is  a settin’  in  de  grape-vine  a watchin’  fer  de  moon. 


192 


nis  SONGS. 


W’en  a feller  comes  a knockin’ 

Des  holler — Oh , shoo! 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo ! 

Oh,  swing  dat  yaller  gal ! 

Do,  boys,  do ! 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo ! 

Oh,  tu’n  me  loose  ! Lemme  ’lone  ! Go  way,  now  ! 

W’at  you  speck  I come  a dancin’  fer  ef  I dunno  how  ? 

Deze  de  ve’y  kinder  footses  w’at  kicks  up  a row ; 

Can’t  you  jump  inter  de  middle  en  make  yo’  gal  a bow  ? 

Look  at  dat  merlatter  man 
A follerin’  up  Sue ; 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo ! 

De  boys  ain’t  a gwine 

W’en  you  cry  boo  hoo — 

Hop  light,  ladies, 

Oh,  Miss  Loo ! 


TRANSCRIPTIONS. 


193 


YII. 

TRANSCRIPTIONS* 

1.  A Plantation  Chant. 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-fo’, 

Christ  done  open  dat  He’v’mly  do’ — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer; 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-five, 

Christ  done  made  dat  dead  man  alive — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

You  ax  me  ter  run  home, 

Little  childun — 

Run  home,  dat  sun  done  roll — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-six, 

Christ  is  got  us  a place  done  fix — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer; 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-sev’m 
Christ  done  sot  a table  in  Hev’m — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 


* If  these  are  adaptations  from  songs  the  negroes  have  caught 
from  the  whites,  their  origin  is  very  remote.  I have  transcribed 
them  literally,  and  I regard  them  as  in  the  highest  degree  char- 
acteristic. 


194 


HIS  SONGS. 


You  ax  me  ter  run  home, 

Little  childun — 

Run  home,  dat  sun  done  roll — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-eight, 

Christ  done  make  dat  crooked  way  straight — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer ; 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-nine, 

Christ  done  tu’n  dat  water  inter  wine — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

You  ax  me  ter  run  home, 

Little  childun — 

Run  home,  dat  sun  done  roll — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-ten, 

Christ  is  de  mo’ner’s  onliest  fr’en’ — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer ; 

Hit’s  eighteen  hunder’d  forty-en-’lev’m, 

Christ’ll  be  at  de  do’  w’en  we  all  git  ter  Hev’m — 
An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 

You  ax  me  ter  run  home, 

Little  childun — 

Run  home,  dat  sun  done  roll — 

An’  I don’t  wanter  stay  yer  no  longer. 


TRANSCRIPTIONS. 


195 


2.  A Plantation  Serenade. 

De  ole  bee  make  de  honey-comb, 

De  young  bee  make  de  honey, 

De  niggers  make  de  cotton  en 
co’n, 

En  de  w’ite  folks  gits  de 
money. 

De  raccoon  he’s  a cu’us  man, 

He  never  walk  twel  dark, 

En  nuthin’  never  ’sturbs  his  mine, 

Twel  he  hear  ole  Bringer  bark. 

De  raccoon  totes  a bushy  tail, 

De  ’possum  totes  no  ha’r, 

Mr.  Rabbit,  he  come  skippin’  by, 

He  ain’t  got  none  ter  spar’. 

Monday  mornin’  break  er  day, 

W’ite  folks  got  me  gwine, 

But  Sat’dy  night,  w’en  de  sun  goes  down, 
Dat  yaller  gal’s  in  my  mine. 

Fifteen  poun’  er  meat  a week, 

W’isky  fer  ter  sell, 

Oh,  how  can  a young  man  stay  at  home, 
Dem  gals  dey  look  so  well  ? 


196 


Ills  SONGS. 


Met  a ’possum  in  de  road — 

Brer  ’ Possum,  whar  you  gwine  f 
I thank  my  stars , 1 bless  my  life , 
/’m  a huntin’  fer  de  muscadine. 


VIII. 

THE  BIG  BETHEL  CHURCH. 

De  Big  Bethel  chu’ch ! de  Big  Bethel  chu’ch ! 
Done  put  ole  Satun  behine  um  ; 

Ef  a sinner  git  loose  fum  enny  udder  chu’ch, 

De  Big  Bethel  chu’ch  will  fine  um ! 

Hit’s  good  ter  be  dere,  en  it’s  sweet  ter  be  dere, 
Wid  de  sisterin’  all  aroun’  you — 

A shakin’  dem  shackles  er  mussy  en’  love 
Wharwid  de  Lord  is  boun’  you. 

Hit’s  sweet  ter  be  dere  en  lissen  ter  de  hymes, 

En  hear  dem  mo’ners  a shoutin’ — 

Dey  done  reach  de  place  whar  der  ain’t  no  room 
Fer  enny  mo’  weepin’  en  doubtin’. 

Hit’s  good  ter  be  dere  w’en  de  sinners  all  jine 
Wid  de  brudderin  in  dere  singin’, 

En  it  look  like  Gaberl  gwine  ter  rack  up  en  blow 
En  set  dem  heav’m  bells  ter  ringin’ ! 


THE  BIG  BETHEL  CHURCH. 


19 


Oh,  de  Big  Bethel  chu’ch ! de  Big  Bethel  chu’ch, 
Done  put  ole  Satun  behine  um ; 

Ef  a sinner  git  loose  fum  enny  udder  chu’ch 
De  Big  Bethel  cliu’ch  will  fine  um ! 


IX. 


TIME  GOES  BY  TURNS. 

Dar’s  a pow’ful  rassle  ’twix  de  Good  en  de  Bad, 
En  de  Bad’s  got  de  all-under  holt ; 

En  w’en  de  wuss  come,  she  come  i’on-clad, 

En  you  hatter  hole  yo’  bref  fer  de  jolt. 

But  des  todes  de  las’  Good  gits  de  knee-lock, 

En  dey  draps  ter  de  groun’ — her  flop  ! 

Good  had  de  inturn,  en  he  stan’  like  a rock, 

En  he  bleedzd  fer  ter  be  on  top. 

De  dry  wedder  breaks  wid  a big  thunder-clap, 
Fer  dey  ain’t  no  drout’  w’at  kin  las’, 

But  de  seasons  w’at  whoops  up  de  cotton  crap, 
Likewise  dey  freshens  up  de  grass. 

De  rain  fall  so  saf’  in  de  long  dark  night, 

Twel  you  hatter  hole  yo’  han’  fer  a sign, 

But  de  drizzle  w’at  sets  de  tater-slips  right 
Is  de  makin’  er  de  May-pop  vine. 


198 


HIS  SONGS. 


In  de  mellerest  groun’  de  clay  root’ll  ketch 
En  hole  ter  de  tongue  er  de  plow, 

En  a pine-pole  gate  at  de  gyardin-patch 
Never’ll  keep  out  de  ole  brindle  cow. 

One  en  all  on  us  knows  who’s  a pullin’  at  de  bits 
Like  de  lead-mule  dat  g’ides  by  de  rein, 

En  yit,  somehow  er  nudder,  de  bestest  un  us  gits 
Mighty  sick  er  de  tuggin’  at  de  chain. 

Hump  yo’se’f  ter  de  load  en  fergit  de  distress, 
En  dem  w’at  stan’s  by  ter  scoff, 

Fer  de  harder  de  pullin’,  de  longer  de  res’, 

En  de  bigger  de  feed  in  de  troff. 


A STORY  OR  THE  WAR, 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 

When  Miss  Theodosia  Huntingdon,  of  Burlington, 
Vermont,  concluded  to  come  South  in  1870,  she  was 
moved  by  three  considerations.  In  the  first  place,  her 
brother,  John  Huntingdon,  had  become  a citizen  of 
Georgia — having  astonished  his  acquaintances  by  mar- 
rying a young  lady,  the  male  members  of  whose  family 
had  achieved  considerable  distinction  in  the  Confed- 
erate army ; in  the  second  place,  she  was  anxious  to 
explore  a region  which  she  almost  unconsciously  pic- 
tured to  herself  as  remote  and  semi-barbaro-  • *nd,  in 

the  third  place,  her  friends  had  persuade  tiiat  to 

15  (201) 


202 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


some  extent  she  was  an  invalid.  It  was  in  vain  that 
she  argued  witli  herself  as  to  the  propriety  of  under- 
taking the  journey  alone  and  unprotected,  and  she  finally 
put  an  end  to  inward  and  outward  doubts  by  informing 
herself  and  her  friends,  including  John  Huntingdon, 
her  brother,  who  was  practicing  law  in  Atlanta,  that 
she  had  decided  to  visit  the  South. 

When,  therefore,  on  the  12th  of  October,  1870 — 
the  date  is  duly  recorded  in  one  of  Miss  Theodosia’s 
letters — she  alighted  from  the  cars  in  Atlanta,  in  the 
midst  of  a great  crowd,  she  fully  expected  to  find  her 
brother  waiting  to  receive  her.  The  bells  of  several 
locomotives  were  ringing,  a number  of  trains  were 
moving  in  and  out,  and  the  porters  and  baggage-men 
were  screaming  and  bawling  to  such  an  extent  that  for 
several  moments  Miss  Huntingdon  was  considerably 
confused  ; so  much  so  that  she  paused  in  the  hope  that 
her  brother  would  suddenly  appear  and  rescue  her 
from  the  smoke,  and  dust,  and  din.  At  that  moment 
some  one  touched  her  on  the  arm,  and  she  heard  a 
strong,  half-confident,  lialf-apologetic  voice  exclaim  : 

“ Ain’t  dish  yer  Miss  Doshy  ? ” 

Turning,  Miss  Theodosia  saw  at  her  side  a tall, 
gray-haired  negro.  Elaborating  the  incident  afterward 
to  her  friends,  she  was  pleased  to  say  that  the  appear- 
ance of  the  old  man  was  somewhat  picturesque.  He 
stood  towering  above  her,  his  hat  in  one  hand,  a car- 
riage-whip in  the  other,  and  an  expectant  smile  lighting 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


203 


up  his  rugged  face.  She  remembered  a name  her 
brother  had  often  used  in  his  letters,  and,  with  a 
woman’s  tact,  she  held  out  her  hand,  and  said : 

“ Is  this  Uncle  Remus  ? ” 

“ Law,  Miss  Doshy  ! how  you  know  de  ole  nigger  ? 
I know’d  you  by  de  faver ; but  how  you  know  me  ? ” 
And  then,  without  waiting  for  a reply  : “ Miss  Sally, 
she  sick  in  bed,  en  Mars  John,  he  bleedzd  ter  go  in  de 
country,  en  dey  tuck’n  sont  me.  I know’d  you  de 
minnit  I laid  eyes  on  you.  Time  I seed  you,  I say  ter 
myse’f,  ‘ I lay  dar’s  Miss  Doshy,’  en,  sho  miff,  dar 
you  wuz.  You  ain’t  gun  up  yo’  checks,  is  you? 
Kaze  I’ll  git  de  trunk  sont  up  by  de  ’spress  wag- 
gin.” 

The  next  moment  Uncle  Remus  was  elbowing  his 
way  unceremoniously  through  the  crowd,  and  in  a 
very  short  time,  seated  in  the  carriage  driven  by  the 
old  man,  Miss  Huntingdon  was  whirling  through  the 
streets  of  Atlanta  in  the  direction  of  her  brother’s 
home.  She  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  study 
the  old  negro’s  face  closely,  her  natural  curiosity  con- 
siderably sharpened  by  a knowledge  of  the  fact  that 
Uncle  Remus  had  played  an  important  part  in  her 
brother’s  history.  The  result  of  her  observation  must 
have  been  satisfactory,  for  presently  she  laughed,  and 
said : 

“Uncle  Remus,  you  haven’t  told  me  how  you  knew 
me  in  that  great  crowd.” 


204 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


The  old  man  chuckled,  and  gave  the  horses  a gentle 
rap  with  the  whip. 

“ Who  ? Me ! I know’d  you  by  de  faver.  Dat 
boy  er  Mars  John’s  is  de  ve’y  spit  en  immij  un  you. 
I’d  a know’d  you  in  New  ’Leens,  let  ’lone  down  dar  in 
de  kyar-shed.” 

This  was  Miss  Theodosia’s  introduction  to  Uncle 
Remus.  One  Sunday  afternoon,  a few  weeks  after 
her  arrival,  the  family  were  assembled  in  the  piazza 
enjoying  the  mild  weather.  Mr.  Huntingdon  was 
reading  a newspaper ; his  wife  was  crooning  softly 
as  she  rocked  the  baby  to  sleep ; and  the  little  boy 
was  endeavoring  to  show  his  Aunt  Dosia  the  out- 
lines of  Kennesaw  Mountain  through  the  purple 
haze  that  hung  like  a wonderfully  fashioned  cur- 
tain in  the  sky  and  almost  obliterated  the  hori- 
zon. While  they  were  thus  engaged,  Uncle  Remus 
came  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  talking  to  him- 
self. 

“ Dey  er  too  lazy  ter  wuk,”  he  was  saying,  “ en  dey 
specks  hones’  fokes  fer  ter  stan’  up  en  s’port  um.  I’m 
gwine  down  ter  Putmon  County  whar  Mars  Jeems  is — 
dat’s  w’at  I’m  agwine  ter  do.” 

“ What’s  the  matter  now,  Uncle  Remus?”  inquired 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  folding  up  his  newspaper. 

“Nuthin’  ’tall,  Mars  John,  ’ceppin  deze  yer  sun- 
shine niggers.  Dey  begs  my  terbacker,  en  borrys  my 
tools,  en  steals  my  vittles,  en  hit’s  done  come  ter  dat 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


205 


pass  dat  I gotter  pack  up  en  go.  I’m  agwine  down  ter 
Putmon,  dat’s  w’at.” 

Uncle  Remus  was  accustomed  to  make  this  threat 
several  times  a day,  but  upon  this  occasion  it  seemed  to 
remind  Mr.  Huntingdon  of  something. 

“Very  well,”  he  said,  “I’ll  come  around  and  help 
you  pack  up,  but  before  you  go  I want  you  to  tell 
Sister  here  how  you  went  to  war  and  fought  for  the 
Union. — Remus  was  a famous  warrior,”  he  continued, 
turning  to  Miss  Theodosia ; “ he  volunteered  for  one 
day,  and  commanded  an  army  of  one.  You  know  the 
story,  but  you  have  never  heard  Remus’s  version.” 

Uncle  Remus  shuffled  around  in  an  awkward, 
embarrassed  way,  scratched  his  head,  and  looked  un- 
comfortable. 

“ Miss  Doshy  ain’t  got  no  time  fer  ter  set  dar  an 
year  de  ole  nigger  run  on.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I have,  Uncle  Remus ! ” exclaimed  the 
young  lady  ; “ plenty  of  time.” 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that,  after  many  ridiculous 
protests,  Uncle  Remus  sat  down  on  the  steps,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  his  story  of  the  war.  Miss  Theodosia 
listened  with  great  interest,  but  throughout  it  all  she 
observed — and  she  was  painfully  conscious  of  the  fact, 
as  she  afterward  admitted — that  Uncle  Remus  spoke 
from  the  standpoint  of  a Southerner,  and  with  the  air  of 
one  who  expected  his  hearers  to  thoroughly  sympathize 
with  him. 


206 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


“ Co’se,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  addressing  himself  to 
Miss  Theodosia,  “ you  ain’t  bin  to  Putmon,  en  you 
dunner  whar  de  Brad  Slaughter  place  en  Harmony 
Grove  is,  but  Mars  John  en  Miss  Sally,  dey  bin  dar 
a time  er  two,  en  dey  knows  how  de  lan’  lays.  Well, 
den,  it  ’uz  right  ’long  in  dere  whar  Mars  Jeems  lived, 
en  whar  he  live  now.  When  de  war  come  ’long  he 
wuz  livin’  dere  longer  Ole  Miss  en  Miss  Sally.  Ole 
Miss  ’uz  his  ma,  en  Miss  Sally  dar  ’uz  his  sister.  De 
war  come  des  like  I tell  you,  en  marters  sorter  rock 
along  same  like  dey  allers  did.  Hit  didn’t  strike  me 
dat  dey  wuz  enny  war  gwine  on,  en  ef  I hadn’t  sorter 
miss  de  nabers,  en  seed  fokes  gwine  outer  de  way  fer 
ter  ax  de  news,  I’d  a ’lowed  ter  myse’f  dat  de  war  wuz 
’way  off  ’mong  some  yuther  country.  But  all  dis  time 
de  fuss  wuz  gwine  on,  en  Mars  Jeems,  he  wuz  des 
eatclnn’  fer  ter  put  in.  Ole  Miss  en  Miss  Sally,  dey 
tuck  on  so  he  didn’t  git  off  de  fus’  year,  but  bimeby 
news  come  down  dat  times  wuz  gittin  putty  hot,  en 
Mars  Jeems  he  got  up,  he  did,  en  say  he  gotter  go, 
en  go  he  did.  He  got  a overseer  fer  ter  look  atter 
de  place,  en  he  went  en  jined  de  army.  En  he  ’uz  a 
lighter,  too,  mon,  Mars  Jeems  wuz.  Many’s  en  many’s 
de  time,”  continued  the  old  man,  reflectively,  “ dat  I 
hatter  take’n  bresli  dat  boy  on  accounter  his  ’buzin’ 
en  beatin’  dem  yuther  boys.  He  went  off  dar  fer  ter 
fight,  en  he  fit.  Ole  Miss  useter  call  me  up  Sunday 
en  read  w’at  de  papers  say  ’bout  Mars  Jeems,  en  it 


A StORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


207 


hope  ’er  up  might’ly.  I kin  see  ’er  des  like  it  ’uz 
yistiddy. 

44  4 Remus,’  sez  she,  4 dish  yer’s  w’at  de  papers  say 
’bout  my  baby,’  en  den  she’d  read  out  twel  she  couldn’t 
read  fer  cryin’.  Hit  went  on  dis  way  year  in  en  year 
out,  en  dem  wuz  lonesome  times,  sho’s  you  bawn,  Miss 
Doshy — lonesome  times,  slio.  Hit  got  hotter  en  hotter 
in  de  war,  en  lonesomer  en  mo’  lonesomer  at  home,  en 
bimeby  ’long  come  de  conscrip’  man,  en  he  des  ever- 
las’nly  scoop  up  Mars  Jeems’s  overseer.  W’en  dis 
come  ’bou*,  ole  Miss,  she  sont  atter  me  en  say,  sez 
she : 

44  4 Remus,  I ain’t  got  nobody  fer  ter  look  arter  de.' 
place  but  you,’  sez  she,  en  den  I up’n  say,  sez  I : \ 

44  4 Mistiss,  you  kin  des  ’pen’  on  de  ole  nigger.’  / 

44 1 wuz  ole  den,  Miss  Doshy — let  ’lone  w’at  I is 
now ; en  you  better  b’leeve  I bossed  dem  han’s.  I had 
dem  niggers  up  en  in  de  fiel’  long  ’fo’  day,  en  de  way  1 
dey  did  wuk  wuz  a caution.  Ef  dey  didn’t  earnt  der 
vittles  dat  season  den  I ain’t  name  Remus.  But  dey 
wuz  tnk  keer  un.  Dey  had  plenty  er  cloze  en  plenty 
er  grub,  en  dey  wuz  de  fattes’  niggers  in  de  settlement. 

44  Bimeby  one  day,  Ole  Miss,  she  call  me  up  en  say 1 
de  Yankees  done  gone  en  tuck  Atlanty — dish  yer  ve’y 
town  ; den  presently  I year  dey  wuz  a marcliin’  on 
down  todes  Putmon,  en,  lo  en  beholes ! one  day,  de 
fus  news  I know’d,  Mars  Jeems  he  rid  up  wid  a whole 
gang  er  men..  He  des  stop  long  nuff  fer  ter  change 


208 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


bosses  en  snatch  a mouffle  er  sump’n’  ter  eat,  but  ’fo’ 
he  rid  off,  he  call  me  up  en  say,  sez  he : 

444  Daddy’ — all  Ole  Miss’s  chilluns  call  me  daddy 
— 4 Daddy,’  he  say,  4 ’pears  like  dere’s  gwineter  be 
mighty  rough  times  ’roun’  yer.  De  Yankees,  dey  er 
done  got  ter  Madison  en  Mounticellar,  en  ’twon’t  be 
many  days  ’fo’  dey  er  down  yer.  ’Tain’t  likely  dey’ll 
pester  mother  ner  sister;  but,  daddy,  ef  de  wus  come 
ter  de  wus,  I speck  you  ter  take  keer  un  um,’  sezee. 

44  Den  I say,  sez  I : 4 How  long  you  bin  knowin’ 
me,  Mars  Jeems?’  sez  I. 

44  4 Sence  I wuz  a baby,’  sezee. 

“ 4 Well,  den,  Mars  Jeems,’  sez  I,  4 you  know’d 
’twa’nt  no  use  fer  ter  ax  me  ter  take  keer  Ole  Miss  en 
Miss  Sally.’ 

44  Den  he  tuck’n  squoze  my  han’  en  jump  on  de 
filly  I bin  savin’  fer  ’im,  en  rid  off.  One  time  he  tu’n 
’roun’  en  look  like  he  wan  ter  say  sump’n’,  but  he  des 
waf’  his  han’ — so — en  gallop  on.  I know’d  den  dat 
trouble  wuz  brewin’.  Nigger  dat  knows  he’s  gwineter 
git  thumped  kin  sorter  fix  hisse’f,  en  I tuck’n  fix  up 
like  de  war  wuz  gwineter  come  right  in  at  de  front 
gate.  I tuck’n  got  all  de  cattle  en  bosses  tergedder  en 
driv’  um  ter  de  fo’-mile  place,  en  I tuck  all  de  corn  en 
fodder  en  w’eat,  en  put  um  in  a crib  out  dar  in  de 
woods ; en  I bilt  me  a pen  in  de  swamp,  en  dar  I put 
de  hogs.  Den,  w’en  I fix  all  dis,  I put  on  my  Sunday 
cloze  en  groun’  my  axe.  Two  whole  days  I groun’  dat 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


209 


axe.  De  grinestone  wuz  in  sight  er  de  gate  en  close 
ter  de  big  ’ouse,  en  dar  I tuck  my  stan’. 

“ Bimeby  one  day,  yer  come  de  Yankees.  Two 
un  um  come  fus,  en  den  de  whole  face  er  de  yeath 
swawm’d  wid  um.  De  fus  glimpse  I kotch  un  um, 
I tuck  my  axe  en  march  inter  Ole  Miss  settin’-room. 
She  done  had  de  sidebode  move  in  dar,  en  I wish  I 
may  drap  ef  ’twuzn’t  fa’rly  blazin’  wid  silver — silver 
cups  en  silver  sassers,  silver  plates  en  silver  dishes, 
silver  mugs  en  silver  pitchers.  Look  like  ter  me  dey 
wuz  fixin’  fer  a weddin’.  Dar  sot  Ole  Miss  des  ez 
prim  en  ez  proud  ez  ef  she  own  de  whole  county. 
Dis  kinder  hope  me  up,  kaze  I done  seed  Ole  Miss 
look  dat  away  once  befo’  w’en  de  overseer  struck  me 
in  de  face  wid  a w’ip.  I sot  down  by  de  her  wid  my 
axe  ’tween  my  knees.  Dar  we  sot  w’iles  de  Yankees 
ransack  de  place.  Miss  Sally,  dar,  she  got  sorter  rest- 
less, but  Ole  Miss  didn’t  skasely  bat  ’er  eyes.  Bimeby, 
we  hear  steps  on  de  peazzer,  en  yer  come  a couple 
er  young  fellers  wid  strops  on  der  shoulders,  en  der 
sodes  a draggin’  on  de  flo’,  en  der  spurrers  a rattlin’. 
I won’t  say  I wuz  skeer’d,”  said  Uncle  Beinus,  as 
though  endeavoring  to  recall  something  he  failed  to 
remember,  “ I won’t  say  I wuz  skeer’d,  kaze  I wuz- 
ent ; but  I wuz  took’n  wid  a mighty  funny  feelin’ 
in  de  naberhood  er  de  gizzard.  Dey  wuz  mighty 
perlite,  dem  young  chaps  wuz ; but  Ole  Miss,  she 
never  tu’n  ’er  head,  en  Miss  Sally,  she  look  straight 


210 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


at  de  tier.  Bimeby  one  un  um  see  me,  en  lie  say, 
sezee : 

44  4 Hello,  ole  man,  w’at  you  doin’  in  yer  ? ’ sezee. 

“‘Well,  boss,’  sez  I,  ‘I  bin  cuttin’  some  wood  fer 
Ole  Miss,  en  I des  stop  fer  ter  worn  my  han’s  a little,’ 
sez  I. 

“ 4 Hit  is  cole,  dat’s  a fack,’  sezee. 

“Wid  dat  I got  up  en  tuck  my  stan’  behime  Ole 
Miss  en  Miss  Sally,  en  de  man  w’at  speak,  be  went  up 
en  worn  his  han’s.  Fus  thing  you  know,  he  raise  up 
sudden,  en  say,  sezee : 

“ 4 W’at  dat  on  yo’  axe  ? ’ 

“ 4 Dat’s  de  tier  shinin’  on  it,’  sez  I. 

44  4 Hit  look  like  blood,’  sezee,  en  den  he  laft. 

44  But,  bless  yo’  soul,  dat  man  wouldn’t  never  laft 
dat  day  ef  he’d  know’d  de  wukkins  er  Remus’s  mine. 
But  dey  didn’t  bodder  nobody  ner  tech  nuthin’,  en 
bimeby  dey  put  out.  Well,  de  Yankees,  dey  kep’ 
passin’  all  de  mawnin’  en  it  look  like  ter  me  dey  wuz 
a string  un  um  ten  mile  long.  Den  dey  commence 
gittin’  thinner  en  thinner,  en  den  atter  w’ile  we  hear 
skummishin’  in  de  naberhood  er  Armer’s  fe’y,  en  Ole 
Miss  ’low  how  dat  wuz  Wheeler’s  men  makin’  persoot. 
Mars  Jeems  wuz  wid  dem  Wheeler  fellers,  en  I know’d 
ef  dey  wuz  dat  close  I wa’n’t  doin’  no  good  settin’ 
’roun’  de  house  toas’n  my  shins  at  de  tier,  so  I des 
tuck  Mars  Jeems’s  rifle  fum  behime  de  do’  en  put  out 
ter  look  atter  my  stock. 


A STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


211 


“ Seem  like  I ain’t  never  see  no  raw  day  like  dat, 
needer  befo’  ner  sence.  Dey  wa’n’t  no  rain,  but  de 
wet  des  sifted  down ; mighty  raw  day.  De  leaves  on 
de  groun’  ’uz  so  wet  dey  don’t  make  no  fuss,  en  I got 
in  de  woods,  en  w’enever  I year  de  Yankees  gwine  by, 
I des  stop  in  my  tracks  en  let  um  pass.  I wuz  stan’in’ 
dat  away  in  de  aidge  er  de  woods  lookin’  out  ’cross  a 
clearin’,  w’en— -Jpiff  ! — out  come  a little  bunch  er  blue 
smoke  fum  de  top  er  wunner  dem  big  lonesome-lookin’ 
pines,  en  den— pow  ! 

u Sez  I ter  myse’f,  sez  I : 4 Honey,  youer  right  on 
my  route,  en  I’ll  des  see  w’at  kinder  bird  you  got 
roostin’  in  you,’  en  w’iles  I wuz  a lookin’  out  bus’  de 
smoke— piff ! en  den — bang!  Wid  dat  I des  drapt 
back  inter  de  woods,  en  sorted  skeerted  ’roun’  so’s  ter 
git  de  tree  ’twix’  me  en  de  road.  I slid  up  putty  close, 
en  wadder  you  speck  I see  ? Des  ez  sho’s  youer  settin’ 
dar  lissenin’  dey  wuz  a live  Yankee  up  dar  in  dat  tree, 
en  he  wuz  a loadin’  en  a shootin’  at  de  boys  dez  ez  cool 
es  a cowcumber  in  de  jew,  en  he  had  his  hoss  hitch  out 
in  de  bushes,  kaze  I year  de  creetur  tromplin’  ’roun’. 
He  had  a spy-glass  up  dar,  en  w’iles  I wuz  a watcliin’ 
un  ’im,  he  raise  ’er  up  en  look  thoo  ’er,  en  den  he  lay 
’er  down  en  fix  his  gun  fer  ter  shoot.  I had  good  eyes 
in  dem  days,  ef  I ain’t  got  um  now,  en  ’way  up  de  big 
road  I see  Mars  Jeems  a cornin’.  Hit  wuz  too  fur  fer 
ter  see  his  face,  but  I know’d  ’im  by  de  filly  w’at  I 
raise  fer  ’im,  en  she  wuz  a prancin’  like  a school-gal. 


212 


A STORY  OF  TIIE  WAR. 


I know’d  dat  man  wuz  gwineter  shoot  Mars  Jeems  ef 
he  could,  en  dat  wuz  ino’n  I could  stan’.  Manys  en 
manys  de  time  dat  I nuss  dat  boy,  en  hilt  ’im  in  dese 
arms,  en  toted  ’im  on  dis  back,  en  w’en  I see  dat 
Yankee  lay  dat  gun  ’cross  a lim’  en  take  aim  at  Mars 
Jeems  I up  wid  my  ole  rifle,  en  shet  my  eyes  en  let 
de  man  lia^e  all  she  had.” 

“ Do  you  mean  to  say,”  exclaimed  Miss  Theodosia, 
indignantly,  “ that  you  shot  the  Union  soldier,  when 
you  knew  he  was  fighting  for  your  freedom  ? ” 

“ Co’se,  I know  all  about  dat,”  responded  Uncle 
Remus,  “ en  it  sorter  made  cole  chills  run  up  my 
back ; but  w’en  I see  dat  man  take  aim,  en  Mars 
Jeems  gwine  home  ter  Ole  Miss  en  Miss  Sally,  I des 
disremembered  all  ’bout  freedom  en  lammed  aloose. 
En  den  atter  dat,  me  en  Miss  Sally  tuck  en  nuss  de 
man  right  straight  along.  He  los’  one  arm  in  dat  tree 
bizness,  but  me  en  Miss  Sally  we  nuss  ’im  en  we  nuss 
’im  twel  he  done  got  well.  Des  ’bout  dat  time  I quit 
nuss’n  ’im,  but  Miss  Sally  she  kep’  on.  She  kep’  on,” 
continued  Uncle  Remus,  pointing  to  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
“ en  now  dar  he  is.” 

“ But  you  cost  him  an  arm,”  exclaimed  Miss  Theo-# 
dosia. 

“ I gin  ’im  dem,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  pointing  to 
Mrs.  Huntingdon,  “ en  I gin  ’im  deze  ” — holding  up 
his  own  brawny  arms.  “ En  ef  dem  ain’t  nuff  fer 
enny  man  den  I done  los’  de  way.” 


HIS  SAYINGS 


I. 


JEEMS  ROBERSON'S  LAST  ILLNESS. 


A Jonesboro  negro,  while  waiting  for  the  train  to 
go  out,  met  up  with  Uncle  Remus.  After  the  usual 
“ time  of  day  ” had  been  passed  between  the  two,  the 
former  inquired  about  an  acquaintance. 

“ How’s  Jeeins  Rober’son  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Ain’t  you  year  ’bout  Jim  ?”  asked  Uncle  Remus. 
“Dat  I ain’t,”  responded  the 
other ; “ I ain’t  hear  talk  er  Jem 
sence  he  cut  loose  fum  de 
chain-gang.  Dat  w’at  make 
I ax.  He  ain’t  down  wid 
de  biliousness,  is  he  ? ” 

“ Hot  dat  I knows  un,” 
responded  Uncle  Remus, 
gravely.  “ He  ain’t  sick, 
an’  he  ain’t  bin  sick.  He  des 
tuck’n  say  he  wuz  gwineter  ride 
dat  ar  roan  mule  er  Mars  John’s 
de  udder  Sunday,  an’  de  mule, 
she  up’n  do  like  she  got  nudder 

(215)  . 


/ 


216 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


ingagement.  I done  bin  fool  wid  dat  mule  befo’,  an’ 
I tuck’n  tole  Jim  dat  lie  better  not  git  tangle  up  wid 
’er ; but  Jim,  lie  up’n  ’low  dat  lie  wuz  a boss-doctor, 
an’  wid  dat  lie  ax  me  fer  a chaw  terbarker,  en  den 
lie  got  de  bridle,  en  tuck’n  kotch  de  mule  en  got  on 
her — Well,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  looking  uneasily 
around,  “ I speck  you  better  go  git  yo’  ticket.  Dey 
tells  me  dish  yer  train  goes  a callyhootin’.” 

“ Hole  on  dar,  Uncle  Remus  ; you  ain’t  tell  me 
’bout  Jim,”  exclaimed  the  Jonesboro  negro. 

“ I done  tell  you  all  I knows,  chile.  Jim,  he  tuck’n 
light  on  de  mule,  an’  de  mule  she  up’n  hump  ’erse’f,  an 
den  dey  wuz  a skuffle,  an’  w’en  de  dus’  blow  ’way,  dar 
lay  de  nigger  on  de  groun’ , an’  de  mule  she  stood 
eatin’  at  de  troff  wid  wunner  Jim’s  gallusses  wrop 
’roun’  her  beliime-leg.  Den  atterwuds,  de  ker’ner,  he 
come  ’roun’,  an’  he  tuck’n  gin  it  out  dat  Jim  died 
sorter  accidental  like.  Hit’s  des  like  I tell  you : de 
nigger  wern’t  sick  a minnit.  So  long ! Bimeby  you 
won’t  ketch  yo’  train.  I got  ter  be  knockin’  long.” 


ii. 

UNCLE  REMUS'S  CHURCH  EXPERIENCE. 

The  deacon  of  a colored  church  met  Uncle  Remus 
recently,  and,  after  some  uninteresting  remarks  about 
the  weather,  asked : 


UNCLE  REMUS’S  CHURCH  EXPERIENCE.  217 


“ Ilow  dis  you  don’t  come  down  ter  chu’ch  no  mo’, 
Brer  Remus?  We  er  bin  er  havin’  some  mighty 
’freshen’  times  lately.” 

“ Hit’s  bin  a long  time  sence  I bin  down  dar,  Brer 
Rastus,  an’  hit’ll  be  longer.  I done  got  my  dose.” 

“You  ain’t  done  gone  an’  unjined,  is  you,  Brer 
Remus  ? ” 

“Not  zackly,  Brer  Rastus.  I des  tuck’n  draw’d 
out.  De  members  ’uz  a blame  sight  too  mutuel  fer  ter 
suit  my  doctrines.” 

“ How  wuz  dat,  Brer  Remus  ? ” 

“Well,  I tell  you,  Brer  Rastus.  W’en  I went  ter 
dat  chu’ch,  I went  des  ez  umbill  ez  de  nex’  one.  I went 
dar  fer  ter  sing,  an’  fer  ter  pray,  an’  fer  ter  wushu p,  an’ 
I mos’  giner’lly  allers  had  a stray  shinplarster  w’ich  de 
ole  ’oman  say  she  want  sont  out  dar  ter  dem  cullud 
fokes  ’cross  de  water.  Hit  went  on  dis  way  twel 
bimeby,  one  day,  de  fus  news  I know’d  der  was  a row 
got  up  in  de  amen  cornder.  Brer  Dick,  he  ’nouneed 
dat  dey  wern’t  nuff  money  in  de  box ; an’  Brer  Sim 
said  if  dey  wern’t  he  speck  Brer  Dick  know’d  whar  it 
disappeared  ter  ; an’  den  Brer  Dick  ’low’d  dat  he  wron’t 
stan’  no  ’probusness,  an’  wid  dat  he  haul  off  an’  tuck 
Brer  Sim  under  de  jaw — her  blajp ! — an’  den  dey 
clinched  an’  drapped  on  de  flo’  an’  fout  under  de 
benches  an’  ’mong  de  wimmen. 

“ ’Bout  dat  time  Sis  Tempy,  she  lipt  up  in  de  a’r, 

an’  sing  out  dat  she  done  gone  an’  tromple  on  de  Ole 
16 


218 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


Boy,  an’  she  kep’  on  lippin’  up  an’  slingin’  out  ’er 
han’s  twel  bimeby — blip ! — she  tuck  Sis  Becky  in  de 

mouf,  an’  den  Sis  Becky  riz 
an’  fetch  a grab  at  Sis  Tempy, 
an’  I ’clar’  ter  grashus  ef 
didn’t  ’pear  ter  me  like  she 
got  a poun’  er  wool.  Atter 
dat  de  revivin’  sorter  het  up 
like.  Bofe  un  um  had  kin 
’mong  de  mo’ners,  an’  ef 
you  ever  see  skufflin’  an’ 

scramblin’  hit  wuz  den  an’ 

dar.  Brer  Jeems  Henry, 
he  mounted  Brer  Plato  an’ 
rid  ’irn  over  de  railin’,  an’  den  de  preacher  he  start 
down  fum  de  pulpit,  an’  des  ez  he  wuz  skippin’  onter 
de  flatform  a hyme-book  kotch  ’im  in  de  bur  er  de 
year,  an’  I be  bless  ef  it  didn’t  soun’  like  a bung- 
shell’d  busted.  Des  den,  Brer  Jesse,  he  riz  up  in  his 

seat,  sorter  keerless  like,  an’  went  down  inter  his 

britches  atter  his  razer,  an’  right  den  I know’d  slio’ 
nuff  trubble  wuz  begun.  Sis  Dilsey,  she  seed  it  herse’f, 
an’  she  tuck’n  let  off  wunner  dem  hallyluyah  hollers, 
an’  den  I disremember  w’at  come  ter  pass. 

“ I’m  gittin’  sorter  ole,  Brer  Bastus,  an’  it  seem  like 
de  dus’  sorter  shet  out  de  pannyrammer.  Fuddermo’, 
my  lim’s  got  ter  akin,  mo’  speshully  w’en  I year  Brer 
Sim  an’  Brer  Dick  a snortin’  and  a skufflin  under  de 


UNCLE  REMUS’S  CHURCH  EXPERIENCE.  219 

benches  like  ez  dey  wuz  sorter  makin’  der  way  ter  my 
pew.  So  I kinder  hump  myse’f  an’  scramble  out,  and 
de  fus  man  w’at  I seed  was  a p’leeceman,  an’  he  had  a 
nigger  ’rested,  an’  de  fergiven  name  er  dat  nigger  wuz 
Remus.” 

“ He  didn’t  ’res’  you,  did  he,  Brer  Remus  ? ” 

“ Hit’s  des  like  I tell  you,  Brer  Rastus,  an’  I hatter 
git  Mars  John  fer  to  go  inter  my  bon’s  fer  me.  Hit 
ain’t  no  use  fer  ter  sing  out  cliu’ch  ter  me,  Brer  Rastus. 
I done  bin  an’  got  my  dose.  W’en  I goes  ter  war,  I 
wan  ter  know  w’at  I’m  a doin’.  I don’t  wan  ter  git 
hemmed  up  ’mong  no  wimmen  and  preachers.  I wants 
elbow-room,  an’  I’m  bleedzd  ter  have  it.  Des  gimme 
elbow-room.” 

“ But,  Brer  Remus,  you  ain’t — ” 

“ I mout  drap  in,  Brer  Rastus,  an’  den  ag’in  I 
moutn’t,  but  w’en  you  duz  see  me  santer  in  de  do’,  wid 
my  specs  on,  youk’n  des  say  to  de  congergashun,  sorter 
familious  like,  4 Yer  come  ole  man  Remus  wid  his 
hoss-pistol,  an’  ef  dar’s  much  uv  a skuffle  ’roun’  yer  dis 
evenin’  youer  gwineter  year  fum  ’im.’  Dat’s  me,  an’ 
dat’s  what  you  kin  tell  um.  So  long ! Member  me  to 
Sis  Abby.” 


220 


IIIS  SAYINGS. 


III. 

UNCLE  REMUS  AND  THE  SAVANNAH  DARKEY. 

The  notable  difference  existing  between  the  negroes 
in  the  interior  of  the  cotton  States  and  those  on  the 
seaboard — a difference  that  extends  to  habits  and  opin- 
ions as  well  as  to  dialect — has  given  rise  to  certain 
ineradicable  prejudices  which  are  quick  to  display 
themselves  whenever  an  opportunity  offers.  These 
prejudices  were  forcibly,  as  well  as  ludicrously,  illus- 
trated in  Atlanta  recently.  A gentleman  from  Savan- 
nah had  been  spending  the  summer  in  the  mountains 
of  north  Georgia,  and  found  it  convenient  to  take 
along  a body-servant.  This  body-servant  was  a very 
fine  specimen  of  the  average  coast  negro — sleek,  well- 
conditioned,  and  consequential — disposed  to  regard  with 
undisguised  contempt  everything  and  everybody  not 
indigenous  to  the  rice-growing  region — and  he  paraded 
around  the  streets  with  quite  a curious  and  critical  air. 
Espying  Uncle  Remus  languidly  sunning  himself  on  a 
corner,  the  Savannah  darkey  approached. 

“ Mornin’,  sail.” 

“ I’m  sorter  up  an’  about,”  responded  Uncle  Remus, 
carelessly  and  calmly.  “ How  is  you  stannin’  it  ? ” 

“ Tanky  you,  my  belt  mos’  so-so.  He  mo’  hot  dun 
in  de  mountain.  Seem  so  lak  man  mus’  git  need* 

* Underneath. 


UNCLE  REMUS  AND  THE  SAVANNAH  DARKEY.  221 

de  shade.  I enty  fer  see  no  rice  - bud  in  dis 
pa’ts.” 

“ In  dis  w’icli  ? ” inquired  Uncle  Remus,  with  a 
sudden  affectation  of  interest. 

“ In  dis  pa’ts.  In  dis  country. 

Da  plenty  in  Sawanny.” 

“ Plenty  whar  ? ” 

“ Da  plenty  in  Sawanny.  I enty 
fer  see  no  crab  an’  no  oscher  ; 
en  swimp,  he  no  stay  ’roun’. 

I lak  some  rice-bud  now.” 

“Youer  talkin’  ’bout  deze 
yer  sparrers,  w’ich  dey  er  all 
head,  en  ’lev’m  un  makes  one 
moufffe, * I speck,”  suggested  Uncle  Remus.  “Well, 
dey  er  yer,”  he  continued,  “ but  dis  ain’t  no  climate 
whar  de  rice-birds  flies  inter  yo’  pockets  en  gits  out 
de  money  an’  makes  de  change  derse’f ; an’  de  isters 
don’t  shuck  off  der  shells  en  run  over  you  on  de 
street,  an’  no  mo’  duz  de  s’imp  hull  derse’f  an’  drap 
in  yo’  mouf.  But  dey  er  yer,  dough.  De  scads  ’ll 
fetch  um.” 

“ Him  po’  country  fer  true,”  commented  the  Sa- 
vannah negro ; “ he  no  like  Sawanny.  Down  da,  we 
set  need  de  shade  an’  eaty  de  rice-bud,  an’  de  crab,  an’ 
de  swimp  tree  time  de  day ; an’  de  buckra  man  drinky 


* Mouthful. 


222 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


him  wine,  an’  smoky  him  seegyar  all  troo  de  night. 
Plenty  fer  eat  an’  not  much  fer  wuk.” 

(c  Hit’s  mighty  nice,  I speck,”  responded  Uncle 
Remus,  gravely.  “ De  nigger  dat  ain’t  hope  up  ’longer 
high  feedin’  ain’t  got  no  grip.  But  up  yer  whar  fokes 
is  gotter  scramble  ’roun’  an’  make  der  own  livin’,  de 
vittles  wat’s  kumerlated  widout  enny  sweatin’  mos’ 
allers  gener’lly  b’longs  ter  some  yuther  man  by  rights. 
One  hoe-cake  an’  a rasher  er  middlin’  meat  las’s  me 
fum  Sunday  ter  Sunday,  an’  I’m  in  a mighty  big  streak 
er  luck  w’en  I gits  dat.” 

The  Savannah  negro  here  gave  utterance  to  a loud, 
contemptuous  laugh,  and  began  to  fumble  somewhat 
ostentatiously  with  a big  brass  watch-chain. 

“ But  I speck  I struck  up  wid  a payin’  job  las’ 
Chuseday,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  in  a hopeful  tone. 

“ Wey  you  gwan  do  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Pm  a waitin’  on  a culled  gemmun  fum  Sa- 
vannah— wunner  deze  yer  high  livers  you  bin  tellin’ 
’bout.” 

“ How  dat  ? ” 

“ I loant  ’im  two  dollars,”  responded  Uncle  Remus, 
grimly,  “ an’  I’m  a waitin’  on  ’im  fer  de  money.  Hit’s 
wunner  deze  yer  jobs  w’at  las’s  a long  time.” 

The  Savannah  negro  went  off  after  his  rice-birds, 
while  Uncle  Remus  leaned  up  against  the  wall  and 
laughed  until  he  was  in  imminent  danger  of  falling 
down  from  sheer  exhaustion. 


TURNIP  SALID  AS  A TEXT. 


223 


IV. 

TURNIP  SALAD  AS  A TEXT. 

As  Uncle  Remus  was  going  down  the  street  re- 
cently he  was  accosted  by  several  acquaintances. 

“ Heyo  ! ” said  one,  “ here  comes  Uncle  Remus. 
He  look  like  he  gwine  fer  ter  set  up  a 
bo’din-house.” 

Several  others  bantered  the  old 
man,  but  he  appeared  to  be 
in  a good  humor.  lie  was 
carrying  a huge  basket  of 
vegetables. 

“ How  many  er  you  boys,” 
said  he,  as  he  put  his  basket  down, 

“ is  done  a han’s  turn  dis  day  ? 

En  yit  de  week’s  done  commence. 

I year  talk  er  niggers  dat’s  got 
money  in  de  bank,  but  I lay  hit 
ain’t  none  er  you  fellers.  Whar  you 
speck  you  gwineter  git  yo’  dinner,  en  how  you  speck 
you  gwineter  git  ’long  ? ” 

“ Oh,  we  sorter  knocks  ’roun’  an’  picks  up  a livin’,” 
responded  one. 

“ Dat’s  w’at  make  I say  w’at  I duz,”  said  Uncle 
Remus.  “ Fokes  go  ’bout  in  de  day-time  an’  makes  a 
livin’,  an’  you  come  ’long  w’en  dey  er  res’in’  der  bones 


224 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


an’  picks  it  up.  I ain’t  no  han’  at  figgers,  but  I lay  I 
k’n  count  up  right  yer  in  de  san’  en  number  up  how 
menny  days  hit’ll  be  ’fo’  you’er  cuppled  on  ter  de 
chain-gang.” 

“ De  ole  man’s  holler’n  now  slio’,”  said  one  of  the 
listeners,  gazing  with  admiration  on  the  venerable  old 
darkey. 

“ I ain’t  takin’  no  chances  ’bout  vittles.  Hit’s 
proned  inter  me  fum  de  fus  dat  I got  ter  eat,  en  I 
knows  dat  I got  fer  ter  grub  fer  w’at  I gits.  Hit’s 
agin  de  mor’l  law  fer  niggers  fer  ter  eat  w’en  dey 
don’t  wuk,  an’  w’en  you  see  um  ’pariently  fattenin’  on 
a’r,  you  k’n  des  bet  dat  ruinashun’s  gwine  on  some’rs. 
I got  mustard,  en  poke  salid,  en  lam’s  quarter  in  dat 
baskit,  en  me  en  my  ole  ’oman  gwineter  sample  it.  Ef 
enny  you  boys  git  a invite  you  come,  but  ef  you  don’t 
you  better  stay  ’way.  I gotter  muskit  out  dar  w’at’s 
used  ter  persidin’  ’roun’  whar  dey’s  a cripple  nigger. 
Don’t  you  fergit  dat  off’n  yo’  mine.” 


v. 


A CONFESSION. 

“ W’at’s  dis  yer  I see,  great  big  niggers  gwine 
’lopin’  ’roun’  town  wid  cakes  ’n  pies  fer  ter  sell?” 
asked  Uncle  Kemus  recently,  in  his  most  scornful  tone. 


A CONFESSION. 


225 


“ That’s  wliat  they  are  doing,”  responded  a young 
man  ; “ that’s  the  way  they  make  a living.” 

“ Dat  w’at  make  I say  w’at  I duz — dat  w’at  keep 
me  grum’lin’  w’en  I goes  in  cullud  fokes  s’ciety.  Some 
niggers  ain’t  gwine  ter  wuk  nohow,  an’  hit’s  Hingin’ 
’way  time  fer  ter  set  enny  chain-gang  traps  fer  ter 
ketch  um.” 

“ Well,  now,  here  ! ” exclaimed  the  young  man,  in  a 
dramatic  tone,  “ what  are  you  giving  us  now  ? Isn’t  it 
just  as  honest  and  just  as  regular  to  sell  pies  as  it  is  to 
do  any  other  kind  of  work  ? ” 

“’Tain’t  dat,  boss,”  said  the  old  man,  seeing  that  he 
was  about  to  be  cornered  ; “ ’tain’t  dat.  Hit’s  de 
nas’ness  un  it  w’at  gits  me.” 

“ Oh,  get  out ! ” 

“ Dat’s  me,  boss,  up  an’  down.  Ef  dere’s  ruinashun 
ennywhar  in  de  known  wurril,  she  goes  in  de  comp’ny 
uv  a hongry  nigger  w’at’s  a totin’ 
pies  ’roun’.  Sometimes  w’en  I git 
kotch  wid  emptiness  in  de  pit  er 
de  stummuck,  an’  git  ter  fairly 
honin’  arter  sump’n’  w’at  got 
substance  in  it,  den  hit 
look  like  unto  me  dat  I 
kin  stan’  flat-footed  an’ 
make  more  cle’r  money 
eatin’  pies  dan  I could  if  I 
wuz  ter  sell  de  las’  one 


Ills  SAYINGS. 


226 

’twixt  dis  an’  Clirismus.  An’  de  nigger  w’at  k’n 
trapes  ’round  wid  pies  and  not  git  in  no  alley-way  an’ 
sample  um,  den  I’m  bleedzd  ter  say  dat  nigger  out- 
niggers  me  an’  my  fambly.  So  dar  now  ! ” 


VI. 

UNCLE  REMUS  WITH  THE  TOOTHACHE. 

When  Uncle  Remus  put  in  an  appearance  one 
morning  recently,  liis  friends  knew  he  had  been  in 
trouble.  He  had  a red  cotton  handkerchief  tied  under 
his  chin,  and  the  genial  humor  that  usually  makes  his 
aged  face  its  dwelling-place  had  given  way  to  an  ex- 
pression of  grim  melancholy.  The  young  men  about 
the  office  were  inclined  to  chaff  him,  but  his  look  of 
sullen  resignation  remained  unchanged. 

“ What  revival  did  you  attend  last  night  ? ” inquired 
one. 

“ What  was  the  color  of  the  mule  that  did  the  ham- 
mering ? ” asked  another. 

“ I always  told  the  old  man  that  a suburban  chicken- 
coop  would  fall  on  him,”  remarked  some  one. 

“ A strange  pig  has  been  squealing  in  his  ear,”  sug- 
gested some  one  else. 

But  Uncle  Remus  remained  impassive.  He  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  interest  in  what  was  going  on  around 
him,  and  he  sighed  heavily  as  he  seated  himself  on  the 


UNCLE  REMUS  WITH  THE  TOOTHACHE.  227 


edge  of  the  trash-box  in  front  of  the  office.  Finally 
some  one  asked,  in  a sympathetic  tone  : 

“What  is  the  matter,  old  man?  You  look  like 
you’d  been  through  the  mill.” 

“ Now  you’er  knockin’  at  de  back  do’  sho’.  Ef 
I ain’t  bin  thoo  de  mill 
sence  day’  fo’  yistiddy, 


den  dey  ain’t  no  mills 


in  de  lan’.  Ef 
wunner  deze  yer 
scurshun  trains  had 
runned  over  me  I 
couldn’t  er  bin 
wuss  off.  I bin 
trompin’  ’roun’  in 
de  low-groun’s  now 
gwine  on  seventy-fi’ 


year,  but  I ain’t  see  no 

sich  times  ez  dat  w’at  I done  spe’unst  now.  Boss, 


is  enny  er  you  all  ever  rastled  wid  de  toofaclie  ? ” 

“ Oh,  hundreds  of  times  ! The  toothache  isn’t  any- 
thing.” 

“ Den  you  des  played  ’roun’  de  aidges.  You  ain’t 
had  de  kine  w’at  kotch  me  on  de  under  jaw.  You 
mout  a had  a gum-bile,  but  you  ain’t  bin  boddered  wid 
de  toofache.  I wuz  settin’  up  talkin’  wid  my  ole 
’oman,  kinder  puzzlin’  ’roun’  fer  ter  see  wliar  de  nex’ 
meal’s  vittles  wuz  a gwineter  cum  fum,  an’  I feel  a 


228 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


little  ache  sorter  crawlin’  ’long  on  my  jaw-bone,  kinder 
feelin’  his  way.  But  de  ache  don’t  stay  long.  He 
sorter  hankered  ’roun’  like,  en  den  crope  back  whar  he 
come  fum.  Bimeby  I feel  ’im  cornin’  agin,  an’  dis  time 
hit  look  like  he  come  up  closer — kinder  skummishin’ 
’roun’  fer  ter  see  howT  de  lan’  lay.  Den  he  went  off. 
Present’y  I feel  ’im  cornin’,  an’  dis  time  hit  look  like 
he  kyar’d  de  news  unto  Mary,  fer  hit  feel  like  der  wuz 
anudder  wun  wid  ’im.  Dey  crep’  up  an’  crep’  ’roun’, 
an’  den  dey  crope  off.  Bimeby  dey  come  back,  an’  dis 
time  dey  come  like  dey  wuzent  ’fear’d  er  de  s’roundin’s, 
fer  dey  trot  right  up  unto  de  toof,  sorter  zamine  it  like, 
an’  den  trot  all  roun’  it,  like  deze  yer  circuous  bosses. 
I sot  dar  mighty  ca’m,  but  I spected  dat  sump’n’  wuz 
gwine  ter  happ’n.” 

“ And  it  happened,  did  it  ? ” asked  some  one  in  the 
group  surrounding  the  old  man. 

“ Boss,  don’t  you  fergit  it,”  responded  Uncle  Remus, 
fervidly.  “ W’en  dem  aches  gallop  back  dey  galloped 
fer  ter  stay,  an’  dey  wuz  so  mixed  up  dat  I couldn’t  tell 
one  fum  de  udder.  All  night  long  dey  racked  an’  dey 
galloped,  an’  w’en  dey  got  tired  er  rackin’  an’  gallopin’, 
dey  all  close  in  on  de  ole  toof  an’  thumped  it  an’  gouged 
at  it  tw*el  it  ’peared  unto  me  dat  dey  had  got  de  jaw- 
bone loosened  up,  an’  wuz  tryin’  fer  ter  fetch  it  up  thoo 
de  top  er  my  head  an’  out  at  der  back  er  my  neck. 
An’  dey  got  wuss  nex’  day.  Mars  John,  he  seed  I wuz 
’stracted,  an’  he  tole  me  fer  ter  go  roun’  yere  an’  git 


THE  PHONOGRAPH. 


229 


sump’n’  put  on  it,  an’  de  drug  man  he  ’lowed  dat  I bet- 
ter have  ’er  draw’d,  an’  his  wuds  wuzent  more’n  cole 
’fo’  wunner  deze  yer  watchyoumaycollums — wunner 
deze  dentis’  mens — had  retched  fer  it  wid  a pa’r  er 
tongs  w’at  don’t  tu’n  loose  w’en  dey  ketches  a holt. 
Leas’ ways  dey  didn’t  wid  me.  You  oughter  seed  dat 
toof,  boss.  Hit  wuz  wunner  deze  yer  fo’-prong  fellers. 
Ef  she’d  a grow’d  wrong  eend  out’ard,  I’d  a bin  a bad 
nigger  long  arter  I jin’d  de  chu’cli.  You  year’d  my 
ho’n ! ” 


VII. 

THE  PHONOGRAPH. 

“ Unc  Remus,”  asked  a tall,  awkward-looking  negro, 
who  was  one  of  a crowd  surrounding  the  old  man, 
“ w’at’s  dish  ’ere  w’at  dey  calls  de  fonygraf — dish  yer 
inst’ument  w’at  kin  holler  ’roun’  like  little  chillun  in  de 
back  yard  ? ” 

“ I ain’t  seed  um,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  feeling  in  his 
pocket  for  a fresh  chew  of  tobacco.  “ I ain’t  seed  um, 
but  I year  talk  un  um.  Miss  Sally  wuz  a readin’  in  de 
papers  las’  Chuseday,  an’  she  say  dat’s  it’s  a mighty  big 
watchyoumaycollum.” 

“ A mighty  big  w’ich  ? ” asked  one  of  the  crowd. 

“ A mighty  big  w’atzisname,”  answered  Uncle  Re- 
mus, cautiously.  “ I wuzent  up  dar  close  to  wliar  Miss 


230 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


Sarah  wuz  a readin’,  but  I kinder  geddered  in  dat  it 
wuz  one  er  deze  ’ere  w’atzisnames  w’at  you  hollers 

inter  one  year  an’  it  comes 
out  er  de  udder.  Hit’s 
mighty  funny  unter  me 
how  dese  fokes  kin  go 
an’  prognosticate  der 
eckoes  inter  one  er 
deze  yer  i’on  boxes, 
an’  dar  hit’ll  stay  on 
twel  de  man  comes 
’long  an’  tu’ns  de  handle  an’ 
let’s  de  fuss  come  pilin’  out.  Bimeby  dey’ll  git  ter 
makin’  sho’  nuff  fokes,  an’  den  dere’ll  be  a racket 
’roun’  here.  Bey  tells  me  dat  it  goes  off  like  one  er 
deze  yer  torpedoes.” 

“You  year  dat,  don’t  you?”  said  one  or  two  of 
the  younger  negroes. 

“ Bat’s  w’at  dey  tells  me,”  continued  Uncle  Remus. 
“ Bat’s  w’at  dey  sez.  Hit’s  one  er  deze  yer  kinder 
w’atzisnames  w’at  sasses  back  w’en  you  hollers  at  it.” 

“ W’at  dey  fix  um  fer,  den  ? ” asked  one  of  the 
practical  negroes. 

“ Bat’s  w’at  I wanter  know,”  said  Uncle  Remus, 
contemplatively.  “ But  dat’s  w’at  Miss  Sally  wuz  a 
readin’  in  de  paper.  All  you  gotter  do  is  ter  holler  at 
de  box,  an’  dar’s  yo’  remarks.  Bey  goes  in,  an’  dar 
dey  er  tooken  and  dar  dey  hangs  on  twel  you  shakes 


RACE  IMPROVEMENT. 


231 


de  box,  an’  den  dey  draps  out  des  ez  fresh  ez  deze  yer 
fishes  w’at  you  git  fum  Savannah,  an’  you  ain’t  got 
time  fer  ter  look  at  dere  gills,  nudder.” 


VIII. 

RACE  IMPROVEMENT. 

“ Dere’s  a kind  er  limberness  ’bout  niggers  dese 
days  dat’s  mighty  cu’us,”  remarked  Uncle  Remus  yes- 
terday, as  he  deposited  a pitcher  of  fresh  water  upon 
the  exchange  table.  “ I notisses  it  in  de  alley-ways  an’ 
on  de  street-cornders.  Dey  er  rackin’  up,  mon,  deze 
yer  cullud  fokes  is.” 

“ What  are  you  trying  to  give  us  now  ? ” inquired 
one  of  the  young  men,  in  a bilious  tone. 

“ The  old  man’s  mind  is  wandering,”  said  the 
society  editor,  smoothing  the  wrinkles  out  of  his 
lavender  kids. 

Uncle  Remus  laughed.  “I  speck  I is  a gittin’  mo 
frailer  dan  I wuz  ’fo’  de  fahrnin  days  wuz  over,  but  I 
sees  wid  my  eyes  an’  I years  wid  my  year,  same  ez 
enny  er  dese  yer  young  bucks  w’at  goes  a gallopin’ 
’roun’  huntin’  up  devilment,  an’  w’en  I sees  de  limber- 
ness er  dese  yer  cullud  people,  an’  w’en  I sees  how  dey 
er  dancin’  up,  den  I gits  sorter  hopeful.  Dey  er  kinder 
ketchin’  up  wid  me.” 

“ How  is  that  ? ” 


232 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


“Oh,  dey  er  movin’,”  responded  Uncle  Remus. 
“ Dey  er  sorter  cornin’  ’roun’.  Dey  er  gittin’  so  dey 
b’leeve  dat  dey  ain’t  no  better  dan  de 
w’ite  fokes.  W’en  freedom  come 
out  de  niggers  sorter  got  dere 
humps  up,  an’  dey  staid  dat  way, 
twel  bimeby  dey  begun  fer  ter  git 
hongry,  an’  den  dey  begun  fer  ter 
drap  inter  line  right  smartually  ; an’ 
now,”  continued  the  old  man,  em- 
phatically, “ dey  er  des  ez  palaver- 
ous  ez  dey  wuz  befo’  de  war.  Dey 
er  gittin’  on  solid  groun’,  mon.” 

“You  think  they  are  improving, 
then?” 

“Youer  chawin’  guv’nment  now,  boss.  You  slap 
de  law  onter  a nigger  a time  er  two,  an’  larn  ’im  dat 
he’s  got  fer  to  look  atter  his  own  rashuns  an’  keep 
out’n  udder  fokes’s  chick’n-coops,  an’  sorter  coax  ’im 
inter  de  idee  dat  lie’s  got  ter  feed  ’is  own  cliilluns,  an’ 
I be  blessed  ef  you  ain’t  got  ’im  on  risin’  groun’.  An’, 
mo’n  dat,  w’en  he  gits  holt  er  de  fack  dat  a nigger  k’n 
have  yaller  fever  same  ez  w’ite  folks,  you  done  got 
’im  on  de  mo’ners’  bench,  an’  den  ef  you  come  down 
strong  on  de  p’int  dat  he  oughter  stan’  fas’  by  de 
fokes  w’at  hope  him  w’en  he  wuz  in  trouble  de  job’s 
done.  W’en  you  does  dat,  ef  you  ain’t  got  yo’  ban’s 
on  a new-made  nigger,  den  my  name  ain’t  Remus, 


IN  THE  ROLE  OP  A TARTAR.  233 

an1  ef  dat  name’s  bin  changed  I ain’t  seen  her  abber- 
tized.” 


IX. 

IN  THE  ROLE  OF  A TARTAR. 

A Charleston  negro  who  was  in  Atlanta  on  the 
Fourth  of  July  made  a mistake.  He  saw  Uncle  Bemus 
edging  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  thought  he 
knew  him. 

“ Howdy,  Daddy  Ben  ? ” the  stranger  exclaimed. 
“I  tink  I nubber  see  you  no  mo’.  Wey  you  gwan? 
He  hot  fer  true,  ain’t  he  ? ” 

“ Daddy  who  ? ” asked  Uncle  Hemus,  straightening 
himself  up  with  dignity.  “ W’ich  ? ” 

“I  know  you  in  Charl’son,  an’  den  in  Sewanny.  I 
spec  I dun  grow  away  from  ’membrance.” 

“You  knowed  me  in  Charlstun,  and  den  in  Sa- 
Vanny  ? ” 

“ He  been  long  time,  ain’t  he,  Daddy  Ben  ?” 

“ Dat’s  w’at’s  a pesterin’  un  me.  How  much  you 
reckon  you  know’d  me  ? ” 

“ He  good  while  pas’ ; when  I wer’  pickaninny. 

He  long  time  ago.  Wey  you  gwan,  Daddy  Ben  ? ” 

“ W’at  does  you  season  your  recollection  wid  fer 

ter  make  it  hole  on  so  ? ” inquired  the  old  man. 

“ I dunno.  He  stick  hese’f.  I see  you  cornin’  ’long 

’n  I say  ‘ Dey  Daddy  Ben.’  I tink  I see  you  no  mo’, 
IT 


234 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


an’  I shaky  you  by  de  ban’.  Wey  you  gwan  ? Dey  no 
place  yer  wey  we  git  wine  ? ” 

Uncle  Remus  stared  at  the  strange  darkey  curiously 
for  a moment,  and  then  he  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

“ Come  yer,  son,  wliar  dey  ain’t  no  folks  an’ 
lemme  drap  some  Jawjy  ’intment  in  dem  years  er  vone. 

Youer  mighty  fur 
ways  fum  home, 
an’  you  wanter  be 
a lookin’  out  fer 
yo’se’f.  Fus 
and  fo’mus, 
youer  thump- 
in’ de  wrong 
watermillion. 
Youer  w’isslin’ 
up  de  wrong 
chube.  I ain’t  tromped  roun’  de  country  much.  I 
ain’t  bin  to  Charlstun  an’  needer  is  I tuck  in  Savanny ; 
but  you  couldn’t  rig  up  no  game  on  me  dat  I wouldn’t 
tumble  on  to  it  de  minit  I laid  my  eyeballs  on  you. 
W’en  hit  come  ter  dat  I’m  ole  man  Tumbler,  fum 
Tumblersville — I is  dat.  Hit  takes  one  er  deze  yer 
full-blooded  w’ite  men  fur  ter  trap  my  jedgment.  But 
w’en  a nigger  comes  a jabberin’  ’roun’  like  he  got  a 
mouf  full  er  rice  straw,  he  ain’t  got  no  mo’  chance 
’long  side  er  me  dan  a sick  sparrer  wid  a squinch-owl. 
You  gotter  travel  wid  a circus  ’fo’  you  gits  away  wid 


A CASE  OF  MEASLES. 


235 


me.  You  better  go  ’long  an’  git  yo’  kyarpet-sack  and 
skip  de  town.  Youer  de  freshest  nigger  w’at  I seen 
yit.” 

The  Charleston  negro  passed  on  just  as  a policeman 
came  up. 

“ Boss,  you  see  dat  smart  Ellick  ? ” 

“ Yes ; what’s  the  matter  with  him  ? ” 

“ He’s  one  er  deze  yer  scurshun  niggers  from  Charl- 
stun.  I seed  you  a stannin’  over  agin  de  cornder  yan- 
der,  an’  ef  dat  nigger’d  a drawd  his  monty  kyards  on 
me,  I wuz  a gwineter  holler  fer  you.  Would  youer 
come,  boss  ? ” 

“ Why,  certainly,  Uncle  Bemus.” 

“ Dat’s  w’at  I ’lowd.  Little  more’n  he’d  a bin 
aboard  er  de  wrong  waggin.  Dat’s  w’at  he’d  a bin.’’ 


x. 


A CASE  OF  MEASLES. 

“You’ve  been  looking  like  you  were  rather  undet 
the  weather  for  the  past  week  or  two,  Uncle  Remus,” 
said  a gentleman  to  the  old  man. 

“ You’d  be  sorter  puny,  too,  boss,  if  you’der  bin 
whar  I bin.” 

“ Where  have  you  been  ? ” 

“ ’Pear  ter  me  like  ev’eybody  done  year  ’bout  dat. 


236 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


Dey  ain’t  no  ole  nigger  my  age  an’  size  dat’s  had  no 
rattliner  time  dan  I is.” 

“ A kind  of  picnic  ? ” 

“ Go  ’long,  boss ! w’at  yon  speck  I be  doin’  sailin’ 
’roun’  ter  dese  yer  cullud  picnics?  Much  mo’  an’  I 
wouldn’t  make  bread  by  wukkin  fer’t,  let  ’lone  follerin’ 
up  a passel  er  boys  an’  gals  all  over  keration.  Boss, 
ain’t  you  year  ’bout  it,  sho’  ’nuff  ? ” 

“ I haven’t,  really.  What  was  the  matter  ?” 

“ I got  strucken  wid  a sickness,  an’  she  hit  de  ole 
nigger  a joe-darter  ’fo’  she  tu’n  ’im  loose.” 

“ What  kind  of  sickness  ? ” 

“ Hit  look  sorter  cu’ous,  boss,  but  ole  an’  steddy  ez 
I is,  I tuck’n  kotch  de  meezles.” 

“ Oh,  get  out ! You  are  trying  to  get  up  a sensa- 
tion.” 

“ Hit’s  a natal  fack,  boss,  I declar’  ter  grashus  ef 
’tain’t.  Dey  sorter  come  on  wid  a cole,  like — leas’ways 
dat’s  how  I commence  fer  ter  suffer,  an’  den  er  koff 
got  straddle  er  de  cole — one  dese  yer  koflfs  w’at  look 
like  hit  goes  ter  de  foundash’n.  I kep’  on  linger’n’ 
’roun’  sorter  keepin’  one  eye  on  the  rheumatiz  an’  de 
udder  on  de  distemper,  twel,  bimeby,  I begin  fer  ter 
feel  de  trestle-wuk  give  way,  an’  den  I des  know’d  dat 
I wuz  gwineter  gitter  racket.  I slipt  inter  bed  one 
Chuseday  night,  an’  I never  slip  out  no  mo’  fer  mighty 
nigh  er  mont’. 

“ Hex’  mornin’  de  meezles ’d  done  kivered  me,  an’ 


A CASE  OF  MEASLES. 


237 


den  ef  I didn’t  git  dosted  by  de  ole  ’oman  I’m  a Chinee. 
She  gimme  back  rashuns  er  sassafac  tea.  I des  natally 
hankered  an’  got  hongry  atter  water,  an’  ev’y  time  I 
sing  out  fer  water  I got  b’ilin’  hot  sassafac  tea.  Hit 
got  so  dat  w’en  I wake  up  in  de  mornin’  de  ole  ’oman 
’d  des  come  ’long  wid  a kittle  er  tea  an’  fill  me  up. 


Dey  tells  me  ’roun’  town  dat  chilluns  don’t  git  hurted 
wid  de  meezles,  w’ich  ef  dey  don’t  I wan  ter  be  a baby 
de  nex’  time  dey  hits  dis  place.  All  dis  yer  meezles 
bizness  is  bran’-new  ter  me.  In  ole  times,  ’fo’  de  wah, 
I ain’t  heer  tell  er  no  seventy-fi’-year-ole  nigger  grap- 
plin’ wid  no  meezles.  Dey  ain’t  ketchin’  no  mo’,  is 
dey,  boss  ? ” 


238 


niS  SAYINGS. 


“ Oh,  no — I suppose  not.” 

“ ’Rase  ef  dey  is,  youk’n  des  put  my  name  down 
wid  de  migrashun  niggers.” 


XI. 

THE  EMIGRANTS. 

When  Uncle  Remus  went  down  to  the  passenger 
depot  one  morning  recently,  the  first  sight  that  caught 
his  eye  was  an  old  negro  man,  a woman,  and  two  chil- 
dren sitting  in  the  shade  near  the  door  of  the  baggage- 
room.  One  of  the  children  was  very  young,  and  the 
quartet  was  altogether  ragged  and  forlorn-looking. 
The  sympathies  of  Uncle  Remus  were  immediately 
aroused.  He  approached*  the  group  by  forced  marches, 
and  finally  unburdened  his  curiosity : 

“ Whar  is  you  m’anderin’  unter,  pard  ? ” 

The  old  negro,  who  seemed  to  be  rather  suspicious, 
looked  at  Uncle  Remus  coolly,  and  appeared  to  be  con- 
sidering whether  he  should  make  any  reply.  Finally, 
however,  he  stretched  himself  and  said  : 

“We  er  gwine  down  in  de  naberhoods  er  Tally- 
poosy,  an’  we  ain’t  makin’  no  fuss  ’bout  it,  nudder.” 

“ I disremember,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  thoughtfully, 
“ whar  Tallypoosy  is.” 

“ Oh,  hit’s  out  yan,”  replied  the  old  man,  motion- 
ing his  head  as  if  it  was  just  beyond  the  iron  gates  of 


THE  EMIGRANTS. 


239 


the  depot.  “Hit’s  down  in  Alabam.  When  we  git 
dar,  maybe  we’ll  go  on  twel  we  gits  ter  Massasip.” 

“ Is  you  got  enny  folks  out  dar  ? ” inquired  Uncle 
Remus. 

“Hone  dat  I knows  un.” 

“ An’  youer  takin’  dis  ’oman  an’  deze  cliillun  out 
dar  whar  dey  dunno  nobody  ? Whar’s  yo’  perwisions  ? ” 
eying  a chest  with  a rope 
around  it. 

“ Dem’s  our  bed-cloze,” 
the  old  negro  ex- 
noticing 
of  Uncle 
Remus.  “ All  de 
vittles  what  we 
got  we  e’t  ’fo’  we 
started.” 

“ An’  you  speck 
ter  retch  dar  safe 
an’  soun’  ? Whar’s 
yo’  ticket  ? ” 

“ Ain’t  got  none.  De  man  say  ez  how  dey’d  pass 
us  thoo.  I gin  a man  a fi’-dollar  bill  ’fo’  I lef’  Jones- 
boro, an’  he  sed  dat  settled  it.” 

“ Lemme  tell  you  dis,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  straighten- 
ing up  indignantly  : “ you  go  an’  rob  somebody  an’  git 
on  de  chain-gang,  an’  let  de  ’oman  scratch  ’roun’  yer  an’ 
make  ’er  livin’  ; but  don’t  you  git  on  dem  kyars — don’t 


240 


PUS  SAYINGS. 


you  do  it.  Yo’  bes’  holt  is  de  chain-gang.  You  kin 
make  yo’  livin’  dar  w’en  you  can’t  make  it  nowhars 
else.  But  don’t  you  git  on  dem  kyars.  Ef  you  do,  youer 
gone  nigger.  Ef  you  ain’t  got  no  money  fer  ter  walk 
back  wid,  you  better  des  b’il’  yo’  nes’  right  here.  I’m 
a-talkin’  wid  de  bark  on.  I done  seed  deze  yer  Arkin- 
saw  emmygrants  come  lopein’  back,  an’  some  un  ’em 
didn’t  have  rags  nuff  on  ’em  fer  ter  hide  dere  nakid- 
ness.  You  leave  dat  box  right  whar  'she  is,  an’  let  de 
’oman  take  wun  young  un  an’  you  take  de  udder  wun, 
an’  den  you  git  in  de  middle  er  de  big  road  an’  pull 
out  fer  de  place  whar  you  come  fum.  I’m  preachin’ 
now.” 

Those  who  watched  say  the  quartet  didn’t  take  the 
cars. 


XII. 

AS  A MURDERER. 

Uncle  Remus  met  a police  officer  recently. 

“You  ain’t  hear  talk  er  no  dead  nigger  nowhar  dis 
mawnin’,  is  you,  boss  ? ” asked  the  old  man  earnestly. 

“ No,”  replied  the  policeman,  reflectively.  “No,  I 
believe  not.  Have  you  heard  of  any  ? ” 

“ ’Pears  unter  me  dat  I come  mighty  nigh  gittin’ 
some  news  ’bout  dat  size,  an’  dat’s  w’at  I’m  a huntin’  fer. 
Bekaze  ef  dey  er  foun’  a stray  nigger  layin’  ’roun’ 
loose,  wid  ’is  bref  gone,  den  I wanter  go  home  an’  git  my 


AS  A MURDERER. 


241 


brekfus,  an’  put  on  some  clean  cloze,  an’  ’liver  myse’f 
up  ter  wunner  deze  yer  jestesses  er  de  peace,  an’  git  a 
fa’r  trial.” 

“ Why,  have  you  killed  anybody  ? ” 

“ Dat’s  w’at’s  I’m  a ’quirin’  inter  now,  but  I wouldn’t 
be  sustonished  ef  I ain’t  laid  a nigger  out  some’rs  on  de 
subbubs.  Hit’s  done  got  so  it’s  agin  de  law  fer  ter  bus’ 
loose  an’  kill  a nigger,  ain’t  it,  boss  ? ” 

“ Well,  I should  say  so.  You  don’t  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  have  killed  a colored  man,  do  you  ? ” 

“ I speck  I is,  boss.  I speck  I done  gone  an’  done 
it  dis  time,  sho’.  Hit’s  bin  sorter  growin’  on  me,  an’  it 
come  ter  a head  dis  mawnin’,  less  my  name  ain’t  Re- 
mus, an’  dat’s  w’at  dey  bin  er  callin’  me  sence  I wuz 
ole  er  ’nuff  fer  ter  scratch  myse’f  wid  my  lef’  han’.” 

“ Well,  if  you’ve  killed  a man,  you’ll  have  some  fun, 
sure  enough.  How  was  it  ? ” 

“ Hit  wuz  dis  way,  boss  : I wuz  layin’  in  my  bed 
dis  mawnin’  sorter  ruminatin’  ’roun’,  when  de  fus  news 
I know’d  I year  a fus  ’mong  de  chickens,  an’  den  my 
brissels  riz.  I done  had  lots  er  trubble  wid  dem 
chickens,  an’  w’en  I years  wun  un  um  squall  my  ve’y 
shoes  comes  ontied.  So  I des  sorter  riz  up  an’  retch 
fer  my  ole  muskit,  and  den  I crope  out  er  de  back  do’, 
an’  w’atter  you  reckin  I seed  ? ” 

“ I couldn’t  say.” 

“ I seed  de  biggest,  blackest  nigger  dat  you  ever 
laid  eyes  on.  He  shined  like  de  paint  on  ’im  was  fresh. 


242 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


He  lied  done  grabbed  fo’er  my  forwardes’  pullets.  I 
crope  up  nigh  de  do’,  an’  hollered  an’  axed  ’im  how  he 
wuz  a gittin’  on,  an’  den  he  broke,  an’  ez  he  broke  I 
jammed  de  gun  in  de  small  er  his  back  and  banged 


aloose.  He  let  a yell  like  forty  yaller  cats  a courtin’, 
an’  den  he  broke.  You  ain’t  seed  no  nigger  hump 
hisse’f  like  dat  nigger.  He  tore  down  de  well  shelter 
and  fo’  pannils  er  fence,  an’  de  groun’  look  like  wunner 
deze  yer  harrycanes  had  lit  dar  and  fanned  up  de 
yeath.” 

“ Why,  I thought  you  killed  him  ? ” 


HIS  PRACTICAL  VIEW  OF  THINGS. 


243 


“ He  bleedzed  ter  be  dead,  boss.  Ain’t  I put  de 
gun  right  on  ’im  ? Seem  like  I feel  ’im  give  way  w’en 
she  went  off.” 

“ Was  the  gun  loaded  ? ” 

“ Dat’s  w’at  my  ole  ’oman  say.  She  had  de  powder 
in  dar,  slio’,  but  I disremember  wredder  I put  de  buck- 
shot in,  er  wedder  I lef’  um  out.  Leas’ways,  I’m 
gwineter  call  on  wunner  deze  yer  jestesses.  So  long, 
boss.” 


XIII. 

HIS  PRACTICAL  VIEW  OF  THINGS. 

u Brer  Remus,  is  you  heern  tell  er  deze  doin’s  out 
yer  in  de  udder  eend  er  town  ? ” asked  a colored  deacon 
of  the  church  the  other  day. 

“ W’at  doin’s  is  dat,  Brer  Ab  ? ” 

“ Deze  yer  signs  an’  wunders  wliar  dat  cullud  lady 
died  day  ’fo’  yistiddy.  Mighty  quare  goin’s  on  out  dar, 
Brer  Remus,  sho’s  you  bawn.” 

“ Sperrits  ? ” inquired  Uncle  Remus,  sententiously. 

“ Wuss’n  dat,  Brer  Remus.  Some  say  dat  jedgment- 
day  ain’t  fur  off,  an’  de  folks  is  flockin’  ’roun’  de  house 
a hollerin’  an’  a shoutin’  des  like  dey  wuz  in  er  re- 
vival. In  de  winder  glass  dar  you  kin  see  de  flags  a 
flyin’,  an’  Jacob’s  lather  is  dar,  an’  dar’s  writin’  on  de 
pane  w’at  no  man  can’t  read — leas’ wise  dey  ain’t  none 
read  it  yit.” 


244 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


“ W’at  kinder  racket  is  dis  youer  givin’  un  me  now, 
Brer  Ab  ? ” 

“ I done  bin  dar,  Brer  Bemus  ; I done  seed  um  wid 
bofe  my  eyes.  Cullud  lady  what  wuz  intranced  done 
woke  up  an’  say  dey  ain’t  much  time 
fer  ter  tarry.  She  say  she  meet  er 
angel  in  de  road, 
an’  he  p’inted 
straight  fer  de 
mornin’  star,  an’ 
tell  her  fer  ter 
prepar’.  Hit 
look  mighty 
cu’us,  Brer 
Bemus.” 

“Cum  down  ter  dat,  Brer 
Ab,”  said  Uncle  Bemus,  wiping 
his  spectacles  carefully,  and  readjusting  them — “cum 
down  ter  dat,  an’  dey  ain’t  nuthin’  dat  ain’t  cu’us.  I 
ain’t  no  spishus  nigger  myse’f,  but  I ’spizes  fer  ter  year 
dogs  a howlin’  an’  squinch-owls  havin’  de  ager  out  in  de 
woods,  an’  w’en  a bull  goes  a bellerin’  by  de  house  den 
my  bones  git  cole  an’  my  flesh  commences  fer  ter 
creep  ; but  w’en  it  comes  ter  deze  yer  sines  in  de  a’r 
an’  deze  yer  sperrits  in  de  woods,  den  I’m  out — den 
I’m  done.  I is,  fer  a fack.  I bin  livin’  yer  more’n 
seventy  year,  an’  I year  talk  er  niggers  seein’  ghos’es 
all  times  er  night  an’  all  times  er  day,  but  I ain’t  never 


THAT  DECEITFUL  JUG. 


245 


seed  none  yit ; an’  deze  yer  flags  an’  Jacob’s  lathers,  I 
ain’t  seed  dem,  nudder.” 

“ Dey  er  dar,  Brer  Remus.” 

“ Hit’s  des  like  I tell  you,  Brer  Ab.  I ain’t  ’sputin’ 
’bout  it,  but  I ain’t  seed  um,  an’  I don’t  take  no  chances 
deze  days  on  dat  w’at  I don’t  see,  an’  dat  w’at  I sees  I 
got  ter  ’zamine  mighty  close.  Lemme  tell  you  dis, 
Brer  Ab  : don’t  you  let  deze  sines  onsettle  you.  W’en 
old  man  Gabrile  toot  his  ho’n,  he  ain’t  gwinter  hang 
no  sine  out  in  de  winder-panes,  an’  when  ole  Fadder 
Jacob  lets  down  dat  lather  er  liis’n  you’ll  be  mighty  ap’ 
fer  ter  hear  de  racket.  An’  don’t  you  bodder  wid 
}edgment-day.  Jedginent-day  is  lierbul  fer  ter  take 
keer  un  itse’f.” 

“ Dat’s  so,  Brer  Remus.” 

“Hit’s  bleedzed  ter  be  so,  Brer  Ab.  Hit  don’t 
bodder  me.  Hit’s  done  got  so  now  dat  w’en  I gotter 
pone  er  bread,  an’  a rasher  er  bacon,  an’  nuff  grease  fer 
ter  make  gravy,  I ain’t  keerin’  much  w’edder  fokes  sees 
ghos’es  er  no.” 


XIV. 

THAT  DECEITFUL  JUG. 

Uncle  Remus  was  in  good  humor  one  evening 
recently  when  he  dropped  casually  into  the  editorial 
room  of  “ The  Constitution,”  as  has  been  his  custom 
for  the  past  year  or  two.  He  had  a bag  slung  across 


246 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


liis  shoulder,  and  in  the  bag  was  a jug.  The  presence 
of  this  humble  but  useful  vessel  in  Uncle  Remus’s  bag 
was  made  the  occasion  for  several  suggestive  jokes  at 
his  expense  by  the  members  of  the  staff,  but  the  old 
man’s  good  humor  was  proof  against  all  insinuations. 

“ Dat  ar  jug’s  bin  ter  wall,  mon.  Hit’s  wunner 
deze  yer  ole  timers.  I got  dat  jug  down  dar  in  Putmon 
County  w’en  Mars  ’Lislia  Perryman  wuz  a young  man, 
an’  now  he’s  done  growed  up,  an’  got  ole  an’  died,  an’ 
his  chilluns  is  growed  up  an’  dey  kin  count  dere  gran’- 
chilluns,  an’  yit  dar’s  dat  jug  des  ez  lively  an’  ez  lierbul 
fer  ter  kick  up  devilment  ez  w’at  she  wuz  w’en  she 
come  fum  de  foundry.” 

“ That’s  the  trouble,”  said  one  of  the  young  men. 
“ That’s  the  reason  w’d  like  to  know  what’s  in  it  now.” 

“How  youer  gittin’  on  ma’shy  groun’,”  replied 
Uncle  Remus.  “ Dat’s  de  p’int.  Dat’s  w’at  make  me 
say  w’at  I duz.  I bin  knowin’  dat  jug  now  gwine  on 
sixty-fi’  year,  an’  de  jug  w’at’s  more  seetful  dan  dat  jug 
ain’t  on  de  topside  er  de  worrul.  Dar  she  sets,”  con- 
tinued the  old  man,  gazing  at  it  reflectively,  “ dar  she 
sets  dez  ez  natchul  ez  er  ambertype,  an’  yit  whar’s  de 
man  w’at  kin  tell  w’at  kinder  confab  she’s  a gwineter 
carry  on  w’en  dat  corn-cob  is  snatched  outen  ’er  mouf  ? 
Dat  jug  is  mighty  seetful,  mon.” 

“Well,  it  don’t  deceive  any  of  us  up  here,”  re- 
marked the  agricultural  editor,  dryly.  “We’ve  seen 
jugs  before.” 


THAT  DECEITFUL  JUG. 


247 


“ I boun’  you  is,  boss ; I boun’  you  is.  But  you 
ain’t  seed  no  seetful  jug  like  dat.  Dar  she  sets  a 
bellyin’  out  an’  lookin’  mighty  fat  an’  full,  an’  yit  she’d 
set  dar  a bellyin’  out  ef  dere  wuzent  nuthin’  but  win’ 
under  dat  stopper.  You  knows  dat  she  ain’t  got  no 
aigs  in  her,  ner  no  bacon,  ner  no  grits,  ner  no  termar- 
tusses,  ner  no  shellotes,  an’  dat’s  ’bout  all  you  duz 
know.  Dog  my  cats  ef  de  seetfulness  er  dat  jug  don’t 
git  away  wid  me,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  with  a 
chuckle.  “ I wuz  cornin’  ’cross  de  bridge  des  now,  an’ 
Brer  John  Henry  seed  me  wid  de  bag  slung  onter  my 
back,  an’  de  jug  in  it,  an’  he  ups  an’  sez,  sezee : 

“ ‘ Heyo,  Brer  Remus,  ain’t  it  gittin’  late  for  water- 
millions  ? ’ 

“ Hit  wuz  de  seetfulness  er  dat  jug.  If  Brer  John 
Henry  know’d  de  color  er  dat  watermillion,  I speck  he’d 
snatch  me  up  ’fo’  de  confunce.  I ’clar’  ter  grashus  ef 
dat  jug  ain’t  a caution  ! ” 

“ I suppose  it’s  full  of  molasses  now,”  remarked  one 
of  the  young  men,  sarcastically. 

“ Hear  dat ! ” exclaimed  Uncle  Remus,  triumphantly 
— “ hear  dat ! W’at  I tell  you  ? I sed  dat  jug  wuz 
seetful,  an’  I sticks  to  it.  I bin  knowin’  dat — ” 

“ What  has  it  got  in  it  ? ” broke  in  some  one ; 
“ molasses,  kerosene,  or  train-oil  ? ” 

“ Well,  I lay  she’s  loaded,  boss.  I ain’t  shuk  her  up 
sence  I drapt  in,  but  I lay  she’s  loaded.” 

“Yes,”  said  the  agricultural  editor,  “and  it’s  the 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


248 

meanest  bug-juice  in  town — -regular  sorghum  skim- 
mings.” 

“ Dat’s  needer  yer  ner  dar,”  responded  Uncle  Ke- 
mus.  “ Po’  fokes  better  be  fixin’  up  for  Chrismus  now 
w’ile  rashuns  is  cheap.  Dat’s  me.  W’en  I year  Miss 
Sally  gwine  ’bout  de  house  w’isslin’  ‘ W’en  I k’n  Kead 
my  Titles  Cler  ’ — an’  w’en  I see  de  martins  swawmin’ 
atter  sundown — an’  w’en  I year  de  peckerwoods  con- 
fabbin’  tergedder  dese  moonshiny  nights  in  my  een’  er 
town — den  I knows  de  hot  wedder’s  a breakin’  up,  an’ 
I knows  it’s  ’bout  time  fer  po’  fokes  fer  ter  be  rastlin’ 
’roun’  and  huntin’  up  dere  rashuns.  Dat’s  me,  up  an’ 
down.” 

“Well,  we  are  satisfied.  Better  go  and  hire  a 
hall,”  remarked  the  sporting  editor,  with  a yawn.  “ If 
you  are  engaged  in  a talking  match  you  have  won  the 
money.  Blanket  him  somebody,  and  take  him  to  the 
stable.” 

“ An’  w’at’s  mo’,”  continued  the  old  man,  scorning 
to  notice  the  insinuation,  “ dough  I year  Miss  Sally 
w’isslin’,  an’  de  peckerwoods  a chatterin’,  I ain’t  seein’ 
none  er  deze  yer  loafin’  niggers  fixin’  up  fer  ter 
’migrate.  Dey  kin  holler  Kansas  all  ’roun’  de  naber- 
hood,  but  ceppin’  a man  come  ’long  an’  spell  it  wid 
greenbacks,  he  don’t  ketch  none  er  deze  yer  town  nig- 
gers. You  year  me,  dey  ain’t  gwine.” 

u Stand  him  up  on  the  table,”  said  the  sporting 
editor  ; “give  him  room.” 


THAT  DECEITFUL  JUG. 


249 


“ Better  go  down  yer  ter  de  calaboose,  an’  git  some 
news  fer  ter  print,”  said  Uncle  Remus,  with  a touch  of 
irony  in  his  tone.  “ Some  new  nigger  mighter  broke 
inter  jail.” 

“You  say  the  darkeys  are  not  going  to  emigrate 
this  year  ? ” inquired  the  agricultural  editor,  who  is 
interested  in  these  things. 

“ Shoo  ! dat  dey  ain’t ! I done  seed  an’  I knows.” 

“ Well,  how  do  you  know  ? ” 

“ How  you  tell  w’en  crow  gwineter  light  ? Niggers 
bin  prom’nadin’  by  my  house  all  dis  summer,  holdin’ 
dere  heads  high  up  an’  de  w’ites 
er  dere  eyeballs  shinin’  in  de  sun. 

Dey  wuz  too  bigitty 
fer  ter  look  over 
de  gyardin’  palin’s. 
’Long  ’bout  den  de 
wedder  wuz  fetchin’ 
de  nat’al  sperrits 
er  turkentime 
outen  de  pine- 
trees  an’  de 
groun’  wuz 
fa’rly  smokin’ 
wid  de  hot- 
ness. Now  dat  it’s  gittin’  sorter  airish  in  de  mornin’s, 
dey  don’t  ’pear  like  de  same  niggers.  Dey  done  got 
so  dey’ll  look  over  in  de  yard,  an’  nex’  news  you  know 


250 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


dey’ll  be  tryin’  fer'  ter  scrape  up  ’quaintence  wid  de 
dog.  W’en  dey  passes  now  dey  looks  at  de  chicken- 
coop  an’  at  de  tater-patch.  W’en  you  see  niggers 
gittin’  dat  familious,  you  kin  ’pen’  on  dere  campin’ 
wid  you  de  ballunce  er  de  season.  Day  ’fo’  yistiddy 
I kotch  one  un  um  lookin’  over  de  fence  at  my  shoats, 
an’  I sez,  sez  I : 

“ 6 Duz  you  wanter  purchis  dem  hogs  ? ’ 

“ 4 Oh,  no,’  sezee,  ‘ I wuz  des  lookin’  at  dere  p’ints.’ 

“‘Well,  dey  ain’t  p’intin’  yo’  way,’  sez  I,  ‘an’, 
fuddermo’,  ef  you  don’t  bodder  ’longer  dem  hogs  dey 
ain’t  gwineter  clime  outer  dat  pen  an’  ’tack  you, 
nudder,’  sez  I. 

“An’  I boun’,”  continued  Uncle  Remus,  driving  the 
corn-cob  stopper  a little  tighter  in  his  deceitful  jug  and 
gathering  up  his  bag — “ an’  I boun’  dat  my  ole  muskit’ll 
go  oif  ’tween  me  an’  dat  same  nigger  yit,  an’  he’ll  be  at 
de  bad  een’,  an’  dis  seetful  jug’ll  ’fuse  ter  go  ter  de 
funer’l.” 


XY. 

THE  FLORIDA  WATERMELON. 

“Look  yer,  boy,”  said  Uncle  Remus  yesterday, 
stopping  near  the  railroad  crossing  on  Whitehall  Street, 
and  gazing  ferociously  at  a small  colored  youth  ; “ look 
yer,  boy,  I’ll  lay  you  out  flat  ef  you  come  hingin’  yo’ 
watermillion  rimes  under  my  foot — you  watch  ef  I 


An’  I sot  down  an*  wrop  myse’f  roun’  de  whole  blessid  chunk. 


THE  FLORIDA  WATERMELON. 


251 


don’t.  You  k’n  play  yo’  pranks  on  deze  yer  w’ite 
fokes,  but  w’en  you  come  a cuttin’  up  yo’  capers  roun’ 
me  you’ll  lan’  right  in  de  middle  uv  er  spell  er  sickness 
— now  you  mine  w’at  I tell  you.  An’  I ain’t  gwine  fer 
ter  put  up  wid  none  er  yo’  sassness  nudder — let  ’lone 
Hingin’  watermillion  rimes  wliar  I kin  git  mixt  up  wTid 
um.  I done  had  nuff  watermillions  yistiddy  an’  de  day 
befo’.” 

“ How  was  that,  Uncle  Remus  ? ” asked  a gentle- 
man standing  near. 

“ Hit  wuz  sorter  like  dis,  boss.  Las’  Chuseday, 
Mars  John  he  fotch  home  two  er  deze  yer  Flurridy 
watermillions,  an  him  an’  Miss  Sally  sot  down  fer  ter 
eat  um.  Mars  John  an’  Miss  Sally  ain’t  got  nuthin’ 
dat’s  too  good  fer  me,  an’  de  fus  news  I know’d  Miss 
Sally  wuz  a hollerin’  fer  Remus.  I done  smelt  de 
watermillion  on  de  a’r,  an’  I ain’t  got  no  better  sense 
dan  fer  ter  go  w’en  I years  w’ite  fokes  a hollerin’ — I 
larnt  dat  w’en  I wa’n’t  so  high.  Leas’ways  I galloped 
up  ter  de  back  po’cli,  an’  dar  sot  de  watermillions  dez 
ez  natchul  ez  ef  dey’d  er  bin  raised  on  de  ole  Spivey 
place  in  Putmon  County.  Den  Miss  Sally,  she  cut  me 
off  er  slishe — wunner  deze  yer  ongodly  slishes,  big  ez 
yo’  hat,  an’  I sot  down  on  de  steps  an’  wrop  myse’f 
roun’  de  whole  blessid  chunk,  ’cepin’  de  rime.”  Uncle 
Remus  paused  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  stomach  as 
if  feeling  for  something. 

“ Well,  old  man,  what  then  ? ” 


252 


niS  SAYINGS. 


“ Dat’s  w’at  I’m  a gittiiL  at,  boss,”  said  Uncle 
Remus,  smiling  a feeble  smile.  “ I santered  roun’ 
’bout  er  half  nour,  an’  den  I begin  fer  ter 
feel  sorter  squeemish — sorter  like  I done 
bin  an’  swoller’d  ’bout  fo’ 
poun’s  off’n  de  ruff  een’ 
uv  er  scantlin’.  Look 
like  ter  me  dat  I wuz 
gwineter  be  sick,  an’  den 

hit  look  like  I 

wuzent.  Bimeby  a 
little  pain  showed 
’is  head  an’ 
sorter  m’an- 
dered  roun’ 
like  he  wuz  a 


lookin’  fer  a good 


place  fer  ter  ketch  holt,  an’  den  a great  big  pain  jump 
up  an’  take  atter  de  little  one  an’  chase  ’im  ’roun’  an’ 
’roun’,  an’  he  mus’  er  kotch  ’im,  kaze  bimeby  de  big  pain 
retch  down  an’  grab  dis  yer  lef ’ leg — so — an’  haul  ’im 
up,  an’  den  he  retch  down  an’  grab  de  udder  one  an’ 
pull  him  up,  an’  den  de  wall  begun,  sho  nuff.  Fer 
mighty  nigh  fo’  hours  dey  kep’  up  dat  racket,  an’  des 
ez  soon  ez  a little  pain  ’ud  jump  up  de  big  un  ’ud  light 
onter  it  an’  gobble  it  up,  an’  den  de  big  un  ’ud  go 
sailin’  roun’  huntin’  fer  mo’.  Some  fokes  is  mighty 
cu’us,  dough.  Hex’  mornin’  I hear  Miss  Sally  a laugh- 


UNCLE  REMUS  PREACHES  TO  A CONVERT.  253 


in’,  an’  singin’  an’  a w’isslin’  des  like  dey  want  no 
wTatermillions  raise  in  Flurridy.  But  somebody  better 
pen  dis  yer  nigger  boy  up  w’en  I’m  on  de  town — I kin 
tell  you  dat.” 


xvi. 

UNCLE  REMUS  PREACHES  TO  A CONVERT. 

“ Dey  tells  me  you  done  jine  de  chu’ch,”  said  Uncle 
Remus  to  Pegleg  Charley. 

“Yes,  sir,”  responded  Charley,  gravely,  “ dat’s  so.” 

“ Well,  I’m  mighty  glad  er  dat,”  remarked  Uncle 
Remus,  with  unction.  “ It’s,  ’bout  time  dat  I wuz 
spectin’  fer  ter  hear  un  you  in  de  chain-gang,  an’, 
stidder  dat,  hit’s  de  cliu’ch.  Well,  dey  ain’t  no  tellin’ 
deze  days  whar  a nigger’s  gwineter  lan’.” 

“ Yes,”  responded  Charley,  straightening  himself  up 
and  speaking  in  a dignified  tone,  u yes,  I’m  fixin’  to  do 
better.  I’m  preparin’  fer  to  shake  worldliness.  I’m 
done  quit  so’shatin’  wid  deze  w’ite  town  boys.  Dey’ve 
been  a goin’  back  on  me  too  rapidly  here  lately,  an’ 
now  I’m  a goin’  back  on  dem.” 

“Well,  ef  you  done  had  de  speunce  un  it,  I’m 
mighty  glad.  Ef  you  got  ’lijjun,  you  better  hole 
on  to  it  ’twell  de  las’  day  in  de  mornin’.  Hit’s  mighty 
good  fer  ter  kyar’  ’roun’  wid  you  in  de  day  time  an’ 
likewise  in  de  night  time.  Hit’ll  pay  you  mo’  dan 


254 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


politics,  an’  ef  you  stan’s  up  like  you  ougliter,  hit’ll 
las’  longer  dan  a bone-fellum.  But  you  wanter  have 
one  er  deze  yer  ole-time  grips,  an’  you  des  gotter  shet 
yo’  eyes  an’  swing  on  like  wunner  deze  yer  bull-tarrier 
dogs.” 


“ Oh,  I’m  goin’  to  stick,  Uncle  Remus.  You  kin 
put  your  money  on  dat.  Deze  town  boys  can’t  play  no 
more  uv  dere  games  on  me.  I’m  fixed.  Can’t  you 
lend  me  a dime,  Uncle  Remus,  to  buy 
me  a pie?  I’m  dat  hongry  dat  my 
stomach  is  gittin’  ready  to  go  in 
mo’nin’.” 

Uncle  Remus  eyed  Charley  curi- 
ously a moment,  while  the  latter 
looked  quietly  at  his  timber  toe. 
Finally,  the  old  man  sighed  and 
spoke : 

“ How  long  is  you  bin  in  de 
chu’ch,  son  ? ” 

“Mighty  near  a week,”  re- 
plied Charley. 

“ Well,  lemme  tell  you  dis, 
now,  ’fo’  you  go  enny  fudder. 

You  ain’t  bin  in  dar  long  nuff 
fer  ter  go  ’roun’  takin  up  conterbutions.  Wait  ontwell 
you  gits  sorter  seasoned  like,  an’  den  I’ll  hunt  ’roun’ 
in  my  cloze  an’  see  ef  I can’t  run  out  a thrip  er  two 
fer  you.  But  don’t  you  levy  taxes  too  early.” 


AS  TO  EDUCATION. 


255 


Charley  laughed,  and  said  he  would  let  the  old  man 
off  if  he  would  treat  to  a watermelon. 


XVII. 

AS  TO  EDUCATION. 

As  Uncle  Remus  came  up  Whitehall  Street  recently, 
he  met  a little  colored  boy  carrying  a slate  and  a num- 
ber of  books.  Some  words  passed  between  them,  but 
their  exact  purport  will  probably  never  be  known. 
They  were  unpleasant,  for  the  attention  of  a wandering 
policeman  was  called  to  the  matter  by  hearing  the  old 
man  bawl  out : 

“ Don’t  you  come  foolin’  longer  me,  nigger.  Youer 
flippin’  yo’  sass  at  de  wrong  color.  You  k’n  go  roun’ 
yer  an’  sass  deze  w’ite  people,  an’  maybe  dey’ll  stan’  it, 
but  w’en  you  come  a slingin’  yo’  jaw  at  a man  w’at 
wuz  gray  w’en  de  fahmin’  days  gin  out,  you  better  go 
an’  git  yo’  hide  greased.” 

“ What’s  the  matter,  old  man  ? ” asked  a sympathiz- 
ing policeman. 

“ Nothin’,  boss,  ’ceppin  I ain’t  gwineter  hav’  no 
nigger  chillun  a hoopin’  an’  a hollerin’  at  me  w’en  I’m 
gwine  ’long  de  streets.” 

“ Oh,  well,  school-children — you  know  how  they 

>•> 

are.” 

“ Dat’s  w’at  make  I say  w’at  I duz.  Dey  better  be 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


256 

home  pickin’  up  chips.  W’at  a nigger  gwineter  l’arn 
outen  books?  I kin  take  a bar’l  stave  an’  fling  mo’ 
sense  inter  a,  nigger  in  one  minnit  dan 
all  de  school-houses  betwixt  dis  en  de 
State  er  Midgigin.  Don’t  talk,  honey ! 

Wid  one  bar’l  stave  I kin  fa’rly  lif’  de 

/ vail  er  ignunce.” 

“ Then  you  don’t  believe  in  educa- 
tion?” 

j “ Hit’s  de  ruinashun  er  dis 
country.  Look  at  my  gal. 

De  ole  ’oman  sont  ’er  ter 
school  las’  year,  an’  now 
dassent  hardly  ax  ’er  fer  ter  kyar  de  washin’  home. 

' She  done  got  beyant  ’er  bizness.  I ain’t  larnt  nuthin’ 
in  books,  ’en  yit  I kin  count  all  de  money  I gits.  Ho 
use  talkin’,  boss.  Put  a spellin’-book  in  a nigger’s 
ban’s,  en  right  den  en  dar’  you  loozes  a plow-hand.  I 
done  had  de  speunce  un  it.” 


XVIII. 

A TEMPERANCE  REFORMER. 

“ Yek  come  Uncle  Pemus,”  said  a well-dressed 
negro,  who  was  standing  on  the  sidewalk  near  James’s 
bank  recently,  talking  to  a crowd  of  barbers.  “ Yer 
come  Uncle  Pemus.  I boun’  he’ll  sign  it.” 


A TEMPERANCE  REFORMER. 


257 


u You’ll  fling  yo’  money  away  ef  you  bet  on  it,” 
responded  Uncle  Remus.  “I  ain’t  turnin’  nothin’ 
loose  on  chu’ch  ’scriptions.  I wants  money  right  now 
fer  ter  git  a pint  er  meal.” 

“ ’Tain’t  dat.” 

“ An’  I ain’t  heppin  fer  ter  berry  nobody.  Much’s 
I kin  do  ter  keep  de  bref  in  my  own  body.” 

“ ’Tain’t  dat,  nudder.” 

“ An’  I ain’t  puttin’  my  han’  ter  no  reckommends. 
I’m  fear’d  fer  ter  say  a perlite  wud  ’bout  myse’f,  an’  I 
des  know  I ain’t  gwine  ’roun’  flatter’ n up  deze  udder 
niggers.” 

“ An’  ’tain’t  dat,”  responded  the  darkey,  who  held  a 
paper  in  his  hand.  u¥e  er  gittin’  up  a Good  Tempel- 
er’s  lodge,  an’  we  like  ter  git  yo’  name.” 

“ Eh-eh,  honey  ! I done  see  too 
much  er  dis  nigger  tempunce.  Dey 
stan’  up  mighty  squar’  ontwell  dere 
dues  commence  ter  cramp  um,  an’ 
dey  don’t  stan’  de  racket  wuf  a 
dura.  No  longer’n  yistiddy  I seed 
one  er  de  head  men  er  one  er  dese 
Tempeler’s  s’cieties  totin’  water  fer 
a bar-room.  He  had  de  water  in 
a bucket,  but  dey  ain’t  no  tellin’ 
how  much  red  licker  he  wuz  a 
totin’.  G’long,  chile — jine  yo’ 
s’ciety  an’  be  good  ter  yo’se’f. 


258 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


I’m  a gittin’  too  ole.  Gimme  th’ee  er  fo’  drams 
endurin’  er  de  day,  an’  I’m  mighty  nigh  ez  good  a 
tempunce  man  ez  de  next  un.  I got  ter  scuffle  fer 
sump’n  t’eat.” 


XIX. 

AS  A WEATHER  PROPHET. 

Uncle  Remus  was  enlightening  a crowd  of  negroes 
at  the  car-shed  yesterday. 

“ Dar  ain’t  nuthin’,”  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
head  pensively,  “ dat  ain’t  got  no  change  wrote  on  it. 

Dar  ain’t  nothin  dat  ain’t  spotted 
befo’  hit  begins  fer  ter  commence. 
We  all  speunces  dat  p’over- 
dence  w’at  lifts  us  up  fum 
one  place  an’  sets  us 
down  in  de  udder.  Hit’s 
continerly  a movin’  an’ 
a movin’.” 

“Dat’sso!”  “Youer 
talkin’  now ! ” came 
from  several  of  his  hearers. 

“ I year  Miss  Sally  readin’  dis  mawnin,”  continued 
the  old  man,  “ dat  a man  wuz  cornin’  down  yer  fer  ter 
take  keer  er  de  wedder — wunner  deze  yer  Buro  mens 
w’at  goes  ’roun’  a puttin’  up  an’  pullin’  down.” 

“ W’at  he  gwine  do  ’roun’  yer  ? ” asked  one. 


AS  A WEATHER  PROPHET. 


259 


“ He’s  a gwineter  regelate  de  wedder,”  replied 
Uncle  Remus,  sententiously.  “ He’s  a gwineter  fix  hit 
up  so  dat  dere  won’t  be  so  much  worriment  ’mong  de 
w’ite  fokes  ’bout  de  kinder  wedder  w’at  falls  to  dere 
lot.” 

“ He  gwine  dish  em  up,”  suggested  one  of  the  older 
ones,  “ like  man  dish  out  sugar.” 

“Ho,”  answered  Uncle  Remus,  mopping  his  benign 
features  with  a very  large  and  very  red  bandana. 
“ He’s  a gwineter  fix  um  better’n  dat.  He’s  a gwineter 
fix  um  up  so  you  kin  have  any  kinder  wedder  w’at  you 
want  widout  totin’  her  home.” 

“ How’s  dat  ? ” asked  some  one. 

“Hit’s  dis  way,”  said  the  old  man,  thoughtfully. 
“ In  co’se  you  knows  w’at  kinder  wedder  you  wants. 
Well,  den,  w’en  de  man  comes  ’long,  w’ich  Miss  Sally 
say  he  will,  you  des  gotter  go  up  dar,  pick  out  yo’  wed- 
der an’  dere’ll  be  a clock  sot  fer  ter  suit  yo’  case,  an’ 
w’en  you  git  home,  dere’ll  be  yo’  wedder  a settin’  out 
in  de  yard  waitin’  fer  you.  I wish  he  wuz  yer  now,” 
the  old  man  continued.  “ I’d  take  a p’ar  er  frosts  in 
mine,  ef  I kotched  cold  fer  it.  Dat’s  me  ! ” 

There  were  various  exclamations  of  assent,  and  the 
old  man  went  on  his  way  singing,  “ Don’t  you  Grieve 
Atter  Me.” 


260 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


XX. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  TROUBLES. 

“ W hat  makes  you  look  so  lonesome,  Brer  Remus  ? ” 
asked  a well-dressed  negro,  as  the  old  man  came  shuf- 
fling down  the  street  by  James’s  corner  yesterday. 

“ Youer  mighty  right,  I’m  lonesome,  Brer 
John  Henry.  W’en  a ole  nigger  like 
me  is  gotter  paddle  de  canoe  an’  do  de 
fishin’  at  de  same  time,  an’  w’en  you 
bleedzd  ter  ketch  de  fish  an’ 
dassent  turn  de  paddle  loose  fer 
ter  bait  de  hook,  den  I tell  you, 
Brer  John,  youer  right  whar 
de  mink  had  de  goslin’.  Mars 
John  and  Miss  Sally,  dey  done 
bin  gone  down  unto  Putmon 
County  fer  ter  see  dere  kin- 
folks mighty  nigh  fo’  days,  an’ 
you  better  b’leeve  I done  bin  had  ter  scratch  ’roun’ 
mighty  lively  fer  ter  make  de  rashuns  run  out  even.” 

“ I wuz  at  yo’  house  las’  night,  Brer  Remus,”  re- 
marked Brer  John  Henry,  “ but  I couldn’t  roust  you 
outer  bed.” 

“ Hit  was  de  unseasonableness  er  de  hour,  I speck,” 
said  Uncle  Remus,  dryly.  “ ’Pears  unto  me  dat  you  all 
chu’ch  deacons  settin’  up  mighty  late  deze  cole  nights. 


THE  OLD  MAN’S  TROUBLES. 


261 


You’ll  be  slippin’  round  arter  hours  some  time  er  nud- 
der,  an’  you’ll  slip  bodaciously  inter  de  calaboose.  You 
mine  w’at  I tell  you.” 

“ It’s  mighty  cole  wedder,”  said  Brer  John  Henry, 
evidently  wishing  to  change  the  subject. 

“ Cole  ! ” exclaimed  Uncle  Remus  ; “ hit  got  pas’ 
cole  on  de  quarter  stretch.  You  oughter  come  to  my 
house  night  ’fo’  las’.  Den  you’d  a foun’  me  ’live  an’ 
kickin’.” 

“ How’s  dat?” 

“Well,  I tell  you,  Brer  John  Henry,  de  cole  wuz  so 
cole,  an’  de  kiver  wuz  so  light,  dat  I thunk  I’d  make  a 
raid  on  Mars  John’s  shingle  pile,  an’  out  I goes  an’ 
totes  in  a whole  armful.  Den  I gits  under  de  kiver  an’ 
tells  my  ole  ’oman  fer  ter  lay  ’em  onto  me  like  she  was 
roofin’  a house.  Bimeby  she  crawls  in,  an’  de  shingles 
w’at  she  put  on  her  side  fer  ter  kiver  wid,  dey  all  drap 
off  on  de  flo’.  Den  up  I gits  an’  piles  ’em  on  agin,  an’ 
w’en  I gits  in  bed  my  shingles  draps  off,  an’  dat’s  de 
way  it  wuz  de  whole  blessid  night.  Fus’  it  wuz  me  up 
an’  den  de  ole  ’oman,  an’  it  kep’  us  pow’ful  warm,  too, 
dat  kinder  exercise.  Oh,  you  oughter  drapt  roun’  ’bout 
dat  time,  Brer  John  Henry.  You’d  a year’d  sho’  nuff 
cussin’ ! ” 

“ You  don’t  tell  me,  Brer  Remus  ! ” 

“ My  ole  ’oman  say  de  Ole  Boy  wouldn’t  a foun’  a 
riper  nigger,  ef  he  wer’  ter  scour  de  country  fum  Fer- 
ginny  ter  de  Alabam ! ” 


262 


HIS  SAYINGS. 


XXI. 

THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

Uncle  Remus  made  his  appearance  recently  with 
his  right  arm  in  a sling  and  his  head  bandaged  to  that 
extent  that  it  looked  like  the  stick  made  to  accompany 
the  Centennial  bass-drum.  The  old  man  evidently  ex- 
pected an  attack  all  around,  for  he  was  unusually  quiet, 
and  fumbled  in  his  pockets  in  an  embarrassed  manner. 
He  was  not  mistaken.  The  agricultural  editor  wras  the 
first  to  open  fire  : 

“Well,  you  old  villain!  what  have  you  been  up  to 
now  ? ” 

“ It  is  really  singular,”  remarked  a commencement 
orator,  “ that  not  even  an  ordinary  holiday — a holiday, 
it  seems  to  me,  that  ought  to  arouse  all  the  latent  in- 
stincts of  patriotism  in  the  bosom  of  American  citizens 
— can  occur  without  embroiling  some  of  our  most  valu- 
able citizens.  It  is  really  singular  to  me  that  such  a 
day  should  be  devoted  by  a certain  class  of  our  popula- 
tion to  broils  and  fisticuffs.” 

This  fine  moral  sentiment,  which  was  altogether  an 
impromptu  utterance,  and  which  was  delivered  with 
the  air  of  one  who  addresses  a vast  but  invisible  audi- 
ence of  young  ladies  in  white  dresses  and  blue  sashes, 
seemed  to  add  to  the  embarrassment  of  Uncle  Remus, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  make  an  explanation  necessary. 


THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


263 


“ Dey  ain’t  none  er  you  young  w’ite  men  never  had 
no  ’casion  fer  ter  strike  up  wid  one  er  deze  Mobile  nig- 
gers ? ” asked  Uncle  Remus.  “ ’Kaze  ef  you  iz,  den  you 
knows  wharbouts  de  devilment  come  in.  Show  me  a 
Mobile  nigger,”  continued  the  old  man,  “ an’  I’ll  show 
you  a nigger  dat’s  marked  for  de  chain-gang.  Hit  may 
be  de  fote  er  de  fif’  er  July,  er  hit  may  be  de  twelf’  er 
Jinawerry,  but  w’en  a Mobile  nigger  gits  in  my  naber- 
hood  right  den  an’  dar  trubble  sails  in  an’  ’gages 
bode  fer  de  season.  I speck  I’m  ez  fon’  er  deze 
Uunited  States  ez  de  nex’  man  w’at  knows  dat  de  Buro 
is  busted  up ; but  long  ez  Remus  kin  stan’  on  his  hine 
legs  no  Mobile  nigger  can’t  flip  inter  dis  town  longer 
noWes’  P’int  ’schushun  an’  boss  ’roun’  ’mong  de  cullud 
fokes.  Dat’s  me,  up  an’  down,  an’  I boun’  dere’s  a nig- 
ger some’rs  on  de  road  dis  blessid  day  dat’s  got  dis  put 
away  in  his  ’membunce.” 

“ How  did  he  happen  to  get  you  down  and  maul 
you  in  this  startling  manner?”  asked  the  commence- 
ment orator,  with  a tone  of  exaggerated  sympathy  in 
his  voice. 

“ Maul  who  ? ” exclaimed  Uncle  Remus,  indignantly. 
“ Maul  who  ? Boss,  de  nigger  dat  mauled  me  ain’t 
bornded  yit,  an’  dey  er  got  ter  have  anudder  war  ’fo 
one  is  bornded.” 

“ Well,  what  was  the  trouble  ? ” 

“ Hit  wuz  sorter  dis  way,  boss.  I wuz  stannin’ 
down  dere  by  Mars  John  Jeems’s  bank,  chattin’  wid  Sis 


I1IS  SAYINGS. 


264 


Tempy,  w’icli  I ain’t  seed  ’er  befo’  now  gwine  on  seven 
year,  an’  watchin’  de  folks  trompin’  by,  w’en  one  er  deze 
yer  slick-lookin’  niggers,  wid  a bee-gum  hat  an’  a brass 


watch  ez  big  ez  de 


bead  uv  a beer-bar’ 


come  ’long  an 


bresh  up  agin  me 
— so.  Dere  wuz 
two  un  um,  an’ 
dey  went  ’long 
gigglin’  an’  laffin’ 
like  a nes’ful  er 
yaller  - hammers. 
Bimeby  dey  come 
’long  agin  an’  de 
smart  Ellick  brush 
up  by  me  once  mo’.  Den  I say 
to  myse’f,  6 1 lay  I fetch  you  ef  you 
gimme  anudder  invite.’  An’,  sho’  ’nuff,  yer  he  come 
agin,  an’  dis  time  he  rub  a piece  er  watermillion  rime 
under  my  lef’  year.” 

“ What  did  you  do  ? ” 

“ Me  ? I’m  a mighty  long-sufferin’  nigger,  but  he 
hadn’t  no  mo’n  totcli  me  ’fo’  I flung  dese  yer  bones  in 
his  face.”  Here  Uncle  Bemus  held  up  his  damaged 
hand  triumphantly.  “ I sorter  sprained  my  han’,  boss, 
but  dog  my  cats  if  I don’t  b’leeve  I spattered  de  nig- 
ger’s eyeballs  on  de  groun’,  and  w’en  he  riz  his  count’- 


THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


265 


nence  look  fresh  like  beef-haslett.  I look  mighty 
spindlin’  an’  puny  now,  don’t  I,  boss  ? ” inquired  the  old 
man,  with  great  apparent  earnestness. 

“ Rather.” 

“Well,  you  des  oughter  see  me  git  my  Affikin  up. 
Dey  useter  call  me  er  bad  nigger  long  ’fo’  de  war,  an’ 
hit  looks  like  ter  me  dat  I gits  wuss  an’  wuss.  Brer 
John  Henry  say  dat  I oughter  supdue  my  rashfulness, 
an’  I don’t  ’spute  it,  but  tu’n  a Mobile  nigger  loose  in 
dis  town,  fote  er  July  or  no  fote  er  July,  an’,  me  er 
him,  one  is  got  ter  lan’  in  jail.  Hit’s  proned  inter 
me.” 


(2) 


THE  END. 


BY  EDWARD  NOYES  WESTCOTT. 


David  Harum.  A Story  of  American  Life. 

Illustrated  Edition.  With  70  full-page  and  text  pictures  by  B. 
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Edition  de  Luxe.  Printed  in  tints,  with  copperplate  photo- 
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tains the  best  of  the  daily  papers  and  the  weekly  reviews,  ask,  ‘ Who  is 
Kipling  ? ’ ” — The  Literary  World , Boston. 

“We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  American  letters — 
placing  him  as  a humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as  a master  of  dialect  above 
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novelist  on  a par  with  the  best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the 
heart  of  hearts  of  American  readers.  If  the  author  is  dead — lamentable 
fact — his  book  will  live.” — Philadelphia  Item. 


The  Teller. 

Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

The  publishers  of  “ David  Harum  ” have  the  pleasure  of  presenting 
the  only  other  story  written  by  the  lamented  Edward  Noyes  Westcott. 
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Fortunately  for  the  readers  of  this  masterpiece,  Mr.  Westcott  wrote 
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Harum”  was  written.  Some  peculiarly  interesting  portraits  of  Mr. 
Westcott  and  a picture  of  his  home  illustrate  the  book. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


By  FRANK  R STOCKTON 


TWENTIETH  THOUSAND 

Kate  Bonnet 

The  Romance  of  a Pirate’s  Daughter.  By 
Frank  R.  Stockton.  Illustrated  by  A.  I 
Keller  and  H.  S.  Potter.  12 mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

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Nashville,  Tenn.,  American. 

“ Even  with  the  charming  heroine  in  tears,  the  reader  remains 
cheerful.” — New  York  Outlook. 

“ Nothing  so  fresh,  picturesque,  and  amusing  has  been  presented  for 
a long  time.” — New  York  Press. 

“ A story  of  adventure  written  in  Mr.  Stockton’s  characteristic 
vein.” — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

“ The  funniest  part  of  the  story  is  the  serene  gravity  with  which  the 
author  chronicles  events.” — San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

“ The  appearance  of  a new  book  by  Frank  Stockton  stirs  one  to  an 
agreeable  flicker  of  anticipation.” — New  York  Literary  Digest. 

“ It  is  charming,  and  no  one  but  Mr.  Stockton  could  have  written 
it.” — Julian  Hawthorne,  in  the  Minneapolis  Tribune. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON, 


The  Captain’s  Toll-Gate. 

A Complete  Posthumous  Novel  by  Frank  R.  Stock- 
ton,  Author  of  “Kate  Bonnet,”  “The  Lady  or  the 
Tiger,”  etc.  With  a Memoir  by  Mrs.  Stockton,  an  Etched 
Portrait,  Views  of  Mr.  Stockton’s  Home,  and  a Bibli- 
ography. i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  scene  is  partly  laid  in  Washington  but  mainly  in 
that  part  of  West  Virginia  where  the  author  spent  the 
last  three  years  of  his  life.  Incidents  centering  about 
the  “ Toll-Gate  ” and  a fashionable  country  home  in  the 
neighborhood  are  related  with  the  author’s  peculiar 
humor  and  charm  of  diction  which  have  endeared  him 
to  a host  of  readers. 

The  heroine  who  is  an  embodiment  of  the  healthy 
vigorous  girl  of  to-day,  and  her  several  suitors,  together 
with  the  mistress  of  the  country  house  and  a meddlesome 
unmarried  woman  of  the  village,  combine  to  present  a 
fascinating  and  varied  picture  of  social  life  to  the  present 
day. 

“ In  the  story  we  have  the  real  Stockton  at  his  best  and  brightest. 
The  fun,  the  whimsicality,  the  queer  doings,  the  very  delightful  people 
are  such  as  his  readers  have  been  entertained  with  for  so  many  years. 
The  fertility  of  invention  and  ’ugenuity  is  as  fresh  as  in  the  early 
stones,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Stockton  never  came  nearer  to  success  in 
trying  to  keep  a long  story  together  to  the  end  without  digressions  or 
a break  in  the  plot.  The  heroine  is  a charming  girl,  her  married 
hostess  still  more  charming,  and  there  are  plenty  of  others  the  reader 
will  be  glad  to  meet. 

“ Mrs.  Stockton’s  sketch  of  her  husband  gives  us  a glimpse  of  a 
lovable  and  delightful  personality  and  shows  the  author  at  work  just 
as  the  readers  must  have  imagined  him.  Swinging  in  a hammock 
under  the  fir  trees,  or  when  winter  came,  in  an  easy  chair  before  a big 
log  fire,  he  dreamed  his  fancies  and  dictated  them,  bit  by  bit,  as  they 
came,  to  his  secretary.” — New  York  Sun. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


A NOVEL  OF  REAL  IMPORTANCE. 


The  Law  of  Life. 

By  Anna  McClure  Sholl.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

This  remarkable  novel  presents  an  entirely  new  and  a very  enter- 
taining feature  of  American  national  and  social  development.  Miss 
Sholl  has  sought  her  inspiration  in  the  life  and  interests  of  a large 
University,  as  that  life  is  felt  and  known  from  the  faculty  and  post- 
graduate standpoints.  The  author  has  brought  to  this  fascinating  and 
unfamiliar  subject  a close  personal  knowledge  and  an  enthusiastic 
appreciation  of  its  possibilities  for  literary  purposes. 

“ The  book  is  exceptionally  interesting.  ...  A genuine  touch 
of  dramatic  power.” — Harry  Thurston  Peck. 

“ An  impassioned  romance,  told  with  admirable  balance  ; absorb- 
ingly interesting  and  one  of  the  most  vital  novels  of  the  day.” — Lillian 
Whiting  in  the  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

“ The  writer  unfolds  an  every-day  tragedy  with  that  touch  of  inevi- 
tableness that  we  usually  associate  with  the  work  of  the  masters.” — New 
York  Evening  Telegram. 

“ A remarkable  story  in  many  respects  ; it  makes  one  think,  as  well 
as  sympathize,  and  gives  pleasure  as  a tale  as  well  as  stimulates  as  a 
pro  blem.  ’ ’ — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

“ The  book  has  not  only  a literary  grace  and  distinction,  but  a 
sympathetic  understanding  of  conditions,  a sense  of  their  artistic  values; 
and  a strong  feeling  for  that  law  of  life  from  which  the  book  takes  its 
title.”—  Louisville  Evening  Post. 

“ Miss  Sholl  has  handled  her  subject  with  admirable  sureness 
of  touch,  with  dignity  and  proper  restraint.  Her  lovers  are  be- 
ings of  flesh  and  blood,  not  puppets ; she  faces  the  problem  fully, 
fearlessly ; hence  the  compelling  strength  of  the  story,  its  excep- 
tional merit  as  the  product  of  an  American  pen.”  — New  York 
Mail  and  Express. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


UNLIKE  ANY  OTHER  BOOK* 


A Virginia  Girl  in  the  Civil  War. 

Being  the  Authentic  Experiences  of  a Confederate 
Major’s  Wife  who  followed  her  Husband  into  Camp  at 
the  Outbreak  of  the  War,  Dined  and  Supped  with  General 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart,  ran  the  Blockade  to  Baltimore,  and  was 
in  Richmond  when  it  was  Evacuated.  Collected  and 
edited  by  Myrta  Lockett  Avary.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.25 
net ; postage  additional. 

“ The  people  described  are  gentlefolk  to  the  back-bone,  and  the  reader 
must  be  a hard-hearted  cynic  if  he  does  not  fall  in  love  with  the  ingenuous 
and  delightful  girl  who  tells  the  story.” — New  York  Sun. 

“ The  narrative  is  one  that  both  interests  and  charms.  The  beginning  of 
the  end  of  the  long  and  desperate  struggle  is  unusually  well  told,  and  how 
the  survivors  lived  during  the  last  days  of  the  fading  Confederacy  forms  a 
vivid  picture  of  those  distressful  times.” — Baltimore  Herald. 

“The  style  of  the  narrative  is  attractively  informal  and  chatty.  Its 
pathos  is  that  of  simplicity.  It  throws  upon  a cruel  period  of  our  national 
career  a side-light,  bringing  out  tender  and  softening  interests  too  little  visi- 
ble in  the  pages  of  formal  history.  ” — New  York  World. 

“ This  is  a tale  that  will  appeal  to  every  Southern  man  and  woman,  and 
can  not  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  every  reader.  It  is  as  fresh  and  vivacious, 
even  in  dealing  with  dark  days,  as  the  young  soul  that  underwent  the  hard- 
ships of  a most  cruel  war.” — Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

“ The  narrative  is  not  formal,  is  often  fragmentary,  and  is  always  warmly 
human.  . . . There  are  scenes  among  the  dead  and  wounded,  but  as  one 
winks  back  a tear  the  next  page  presents  a negro  commanded  to  mount  a 
strange  mule  in  midstream,  at  the  injustice  of  which  he  strongly  protests.” — 
New  York  Telegram. 

“Taken  at  this  time,  when  the  years  have  buried  all  resentment,  dulled 
all  sorrows,  and  brought  new  generations  to  the  scenes,  a work  of  this  kind 
can  not  fail  of  value  just  as  it  can  not  fail  in  interest.  Official  history  moves 
with  two  great  strides  to  permit  of  the  smaller,  more  intimate  events ; fiction 
lacks  the  realistic,  powerful  appeal  of  actuality  ; such  works  as  this  must  be 
depended  upon  to  fill  in  the  unoccupied  interstices,  to  show  us  just  what 
were  the  lives  of  those  who  were  in  this  conflict  or  who  lived  in  the  midst  of 
it  without  being  able  actively  to  participate  in  it.  And  of  this  type  ‘A  Vir- 
ginia Girl  in  the  Civil  War’  is  a truly  admirable  example.” — Philadelphia 
Record. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


DR.  BARTON’S  BOOKS. 


Pine  Knot. 

A Story  of  Kentucky  Life.  By  William  E.  Barton.  Illus- 
trated by  F.  T.  Merrill.  i 2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  story  is  full  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  quaint  mountain 
life  with  its  wealth  of  amusing  peculiarities,  and  it  also  has  a his- 
torical value,  since  it  pictures  conditions  attendant  upon  the  anti- 
slavery movement  and  the  days  of  the  war.  The  interest  of  a 
treasure  search  runs  through  the  tale,  the  author  having  adroitly 
utilized  a mountain  legend  of  a lost  mine.  4 4 Pine  Knot”  is  a 
romance  “racy  of  the  soil  ” in  a true  sense,  a story  fresh,  strong, 
and  absorbing  in  its  interest  throughout. 

“Like  Mr.  Allen's  ‘Reign  of  Law,’  ‘ Pine  Knot'  is  a thoroughly  whole- 
some story  written  by  a man  of  earnestness  and  purpose.  It  is  a novel  to  be 
read  and  enjoyed,  and  then  put  away  to  be  read  later.” — Buffalo  Express. 

“The  humanity  of  the  book  will  touch  every  reader.  The  quaint  pecul- 
iarities of  the  community  are  introduced  with  picturesque  effect,  but  eccentrici- 
ties are  only  appropriate  entertaining  accompaniments  of  a skillfully  portrayed 
development  of  character  and  social  life.  Few  modern  writers  possess  such  a 
power  of  describing  an  interesting  and  generally  unknown  people  so  apprecia- 
tively, graphically,  and  often  humorously. — The  book  has  a vivid,  cumulative 
interest. ' ’ — Congregationalist. 

A Hero  in  Homespun. 

A Tale  of  the  Loyal  South.  By  William  E.  Barton.  I2mc. 
Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

“Vigorous,  spirited,  truthful,  absorbing.” — New  York  Critic. 

“ A thoroughly  interesting,  red-blooded,  virile  story,  and  at  the  same  time 
a historical  document  of  the  very  greatest  value.” — The  Bookman. 

“Will  be  read  with  keen  enjoyment.” — New  York  Times. 

“The  story  is  one  of  intense  interest.”- — Boston  Herald. 

“ Abounds  in  life  and  incident.  The  men  and  women  move  and  act 
spontaneously.  The  primitive  customs  and  usages  of  the  mountaineers  have 
been  carefully  pictured.” — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


RECENT  FICTION* 


’Twixt  God  and  Mammon. 

By  William  Edwards  Tirebuck,  Author  of  “ Dome,” 
“ Miss  Grace  of  All  Souls.”  With  a Memoir  of  the  author 
by  Hall  Caine.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ There  is  a manifest  sincerity  in  his  writing,  and  his  studies  of 
character  are  acute  and  convincing.” — New  York  World. 

“ Power  dominates  the  book.  It  is  written  by  a man  who  felt  what 
he  wrote  and  who  had  a great  reason  for  writing.” — Chicago  Tribune. 

“ The  descriptions  of  country  life  are  excellent,  and  some  of  the 
characters,  like  the  Rev.  Gomer  Deen  and  Joy,  are  so  much  alive  as  to 
suggest  Trollope  or  George  Eliot.” — New  York  Evening  Sun. 


The  King’s  Agent. 

By  Arthur  Paterson.  Illustrated.  i2rno.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ The  plot  is  intricate.  Event  follows  upon  event  with  breathless 
haste — plot  and  counterplot  for  the  restoration  of  the  Stuart  king,  for  the 
life  of  Marlborough,  for  the  love  of  Isabel.  The  atmosphere  is  one  of 
suspicion,  apprehension,  fear,  unrest,  for  all  concerned.” — Chicago  Post. 

“Teeming  with  action  and  incident,  and  the  dialogue  is  clever.” — 
Chicago  Chrcnicle. 


The  Housewives  of  Edenrise. 

By  Florence  Popham.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“Worth  reading  for  its  deft  touches  of  sentiment  and  humor.” — 
Rochester  Detnocrat. 

“ The  Edenrise  ladies,  sure  of  sympathy  and  comprehension,  speak 
unhesitatingly  their  thoughts,  unaware  that  among  them  is  one  who  is  so 
far  an  outsider  as  to  be  capable  of  drawing  their  conversational  portraits 
for  a delighted  world.  The  temptation  to  quote  is  great,  but  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  begin  where  it  would  be  so  easy  to  be  drawn  on  to  great  lengths. 
No  inconsiderable  part  of  the  amusement  in  this  book  is  furnished  by  the 
children,  who  are  as  irresistibly  human  and  lifelike  as  their  parents.” — 
New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 


IE  A PPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  MRS.  EVERARD  COTES 

(Sara  Jeannette  Duncan*) 


The  Pool  in  the  Desert,  and  other  stories.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  volume  comprises  love  stories,  marked  by  ease  of  narrative,  poetic 
feeling,  and  a humor  that  is  very  attractive. 

Those  Delightful  Americans.  i2rno.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ A particularly  clever  and  amusing  book.”  — New  York  Sun. 

“ Bubbling  over  with  humorous  situations  and  enjoyable  contrasts.” 

— Chicago  News. 

A Voyage  of  Consolation.  Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth, 

#1-50. 

His  Honour,  and  a Lady.  Illustrated,  izmo.  Cloth, 
$1.50. 

The  Story  of  Sonny  Sahib.  Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.00. 

Vernon’s  Aunt.  With  many  Illustrations.  1 2mo.  Cloth, 
$I-25- 

A Daughter  of  To-day.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

A Social  Departure  : How  Orthodocia  and  I Went  Round 
the  World  by  Ourselves.  With  111  Illustrations  by  F.  H. 
Townsend.  1 zmo.  Cloth,  $1.75  ; paper,  7 5 cents. 

An  American  Girl  in  London.  With  80  Illustrations 
by  F.  H.  Townsend.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50 
cents. 

The  Simple  Adventures  of  a Memsahib.  With 
37  Illustrations  by  F.  H.  Townsend,  i 2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  SIR  GILBERT  PARKER* 


Donovan  Pasha,  and  Some  People  of  Egypt. 

Illustrated.  Colored  Frontispiece.  $1.50. 

Donovan  Pasha  is  supposed  to  be  in  the  service  of  the  Khedive  of  Egypt, 
in  a confidential  capacity,  at  a time  when  the  throne  is  tottering,  where,  by 
his  skilful  diplomacy,  he  continually  meets  Oriental  cunning  with  European 
wit.  From  the  principal  character  to  the  least  significant  the  action  is 
stirring  and  dramatic,  and  the  incidents  possess  the  inherent  quality  of  pos- 
sibility. 

The  Seats  of  the  Mighty. 

Being  the  Memoirs  of  Captain  Robert  Moray,  some- 
time an  Officer  in  the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  afterwards 
of  Amherst’s  Regiment.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

“Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of  ‘The 
Seats  of  the  Mighty’  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.  From 
the  first  chapter  to  the  last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes ; one  finds 
it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narrative  with  breathing  space.  It  whirls  with 
excitement  and  strange  adventure.” — Chicago  Record. 

The  Trail  of  the  Sword.  $1.25. 

“ Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a reputation  already  wide,  and  anew  demon- 
strates his  power  of  pictorial  portrayal  and  of  strong  dramatic  situation  and 
climax.  ’ ’ — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

The  Trespasser.  $1.25. 

“Interest,  pith,  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker’s  new  story  possesses  all 
these  qualities.  . . . Almost  bare  of  synthetical  decoration,  his  paragraphs 
are  stirring  because  they  are  real.  We  read  at  times— as  we  have  read  the 
great  masters  of  romance— breathlessly.” — The  Critic. 

The  Translation  of  a Savage.  $1.25. 

“A  book  which  no  one  will  be  satisfied  to  put  down  until  the  end  has 
been  matter  of  certainty  and  assurance.” — The  Nation. 

Mrs.  Falchion.  $1.25. 

1 1 A well-knit  story,  told  in  an  exceedingly  interesting  way,  and  holding 
the  reader’s  attention  to  the  end.” 


The  Pomp  of  the  Lavilettes.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

“ Its  sincerity  and  rugged  force  will  commend  it  to  those  who  love  and 
seek  strong  work  in  fiction.” — The  Critic. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE. 


Castle  Omeragh.  121110.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“A  story  that  will  keep  the  reader  wide  awake.” — New  York 
Sun. 

“A  rollicking  story.” — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

“ There  have  been  several  novels  of  late  dealing  with  the  Crom- 
wellian era,  and  this  is  one  of  the  best.” — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

“ Vividly  told,  full  of  romance  and  adventure.  The  local  atmos- 
phere is  intelligently  preserved  without  overloading  the  story  with 
Irish  dialect  or  peculiar  Irish  customs.  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  this 
clever  author’s  stories.” — Pittsburg  Telegraph. 

A Damsel  or  Two.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“Wholesome,  sensible,  and  of  deep  interest.  The  story  sparkles 
with  delightful  humor,  and  strong,  tempered  irony  which  sharpens  at 
times  into  keen  wit.” — Chicago  Evening  Post . 


A Nest  of  Linnets.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ A most  entertaining  love  story.” — Boston  Transcript. 

“ A delightful  book  for  one  fond  of  love  affairs,  interspersed  with 
duels  and  other  thrilling  adventures.” — Chicago  Chronicle. 


The  Millionaires.  Paper,  50  cents  ; cloth,  $1.00. 

A Gray  Eye  or  So.  Paper,  50  cents  ; cloth,  $1.00. 


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HAMLIN  GARLAND'S  BOOKS* 

UNIFORM  EDITION. 


Each,  J2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Wayside  Courtships. 

“ A faithful  and  an  entertaining  portrayal  of  village  and  rural  life  in  the  West.  . . . 
No  one  can  read  this  collection  of  short  stories  without  feeling  that  he  is  master  of  the 
subject.” — Chicago  Journal. 

Jason  Edwards. 

An  Average  Man. 

“ The  average  man  in  the  industrial  ranks  is  presented  in  this  story  in  as  lifelike  a 
manner  as  Mr.  Bret  Harte  presented  the  men  in  the  California  mining  camps  thirty 
rears  ago.  ...  A story  which  will  be  read  with  absorbing  interest  by  hundreds  of 
workingmen.” — Boston  Herald. 

A Member  of  the  Third  House. 

A Story  of  Political  Warfare. 

“The  work  is,  in  brief,  a keen  and  searching  study  of  lobbies  and  lobbyists.  At 
I&ast  it  is  the  lobbies  that  furnish  its  motive.  For  the  rest,  the  story  is  narrated  with 
much  power,  and  the  characters  of  Brennan  the  smart  wire-puller,  the  millionaire  Davis, 
the  reformer  Tuttle,  and  Evelyn  Ward  are  skillfully  individualized.  . . . Mr.  Garland’s 
people  have  this  peculiar  characteristic,  that  they  have  not  had  a literary  world  made 
for  them  to  live  in  They  seem  to  move  and  act  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  reality,  and 
in  that  trying  light  they  are  evidently  human.” — Chicago  Record. 

A Spoil  of  Office. 

A Story  of  the  Modern  West. 

“It  awakens  in  the  mind  a tremendous  admiration  for  an  artist  who  could  so  find 
his  way  through  the  mists  of  familiarity  to  an  artistic  haven  ...  In  reading  ‘A  Spoil 
of  Office  ’ one  feels  a continuation  of  interest  extending  from  the  fictional  into  the  actual, 
with  no  break  or  divergence  And  it  seems  to  be  only  a question  of  waiting  a day  or 
two  ere  one  will  run  up  against  the  characters  in  real  life.” 


The  Eagle’s  Heart. 

A Story  of  the  West.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ A story  told  with  all  the  fidelity  of  observation,  the  sincerity  and  the  insight  which 
mark  his  work  at  its  best.  The  clear,  open  atmosphere  of  the  farther  West  is  in  the 
book.”—  Chicago  Record. 

“ Fresh  and  absorbing  in  its  interest.  A novel  of  red  blood  and  vigorous  life.”— 
Detroit  Free  Press. 

A Little  Norsk ; 

Or,  Or  Pap's  Flaxen.  i6mo.  Boards,  50  cents. 

“True  feeling,  the  modesty  of  Nature,  and  the  sure  touch  of  art  are  the  marks  oi 
this  pure  and  graphic  story',  which  has  added  a bright  leaf  to  the  author’s  laurels.”— 
Chicago  Tribune. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


BY  CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY. 


The  Quiberon  Touch. 

A Romance  of  the  Sea.  With  frontispiece.  i2mo.  Cloth, 

$1.50. 

“ A story  to  make  your  pulse  leap  and  your  eyes  glisten.  It  fairly  glows 
with  color  and  throbs  with  movement.” — Philadelphia  Item. 

“ This  story  has  a real  beauty  ; it  breathes  of  the  sea.  Fenimore  Cooper 
would  not  be  ashamed  to  own  a disciple  in  the  school  of  which  he  was  mas' 
ter  in  these  descriptions  of  the  tug  of  war  as  it  was  in  the  eighteenth  century 
between  battle-ships  under  sail.” — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

Commodore  Paul  Jones. 

A new  volume  in  the  Great  Commander  Series,  edited 
by  General  James  Grant  Wilson.  With  Photogravure 
Portrait  and  Maps.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50  net;  postage, 
11  cents  additional. 

“ A thousand  times  more  interesting  than  any  of  the  so-called  historical 
romances  that  are  now  in  vogue.” — Spirit  of  the  Times. 

“ Mr.  Brady’s  vigorous  style,  vivid  imagination,  and  dramatic  force  are 
most  happily  exhibited  in  this  book.” — Philadelphia  Press. 

“ Incomparably  fine.  Being  the  work  of  a scholarly  writer,  it  must  stand 
as  the  best  popular  life  yet  available.  The  book  is  one  to  buy  and  own.  It 
is  more  interesting  than  any  novel,  and  better  written  than  most  histories.” — 
Nautical  Gazette. 


Reuben  James. 

A Hero  of  the  Forecastle.  A new  volume  in  the  Young 
Heroes  of  Our  Navy  Series.  Illustrated  by  George 
Gibbs  and  Others.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

“ A lively  and  spirited  narrative.” — Boston  Herald. 

“ Mr.  Brady  has  made  a stirring  tale  out  of  the  material  before  him,  one 
of  those  brilliant  and  forceful  descriptions  of  the  glories  of  the  old  wooden- 
walled  navy,  which  stir  the  blood  like  a trumpet  call.” — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


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NOVELS  BY  C C.  HOTCHKISS* 


For  a Maiden  Brave. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“ Full  of  interest.” — New  York  Evening  Telegram. 

“Very  interesting  and  readable.” — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

“ His  tale  is  fresh  and  ingenious.” — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

“Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  written  another  novel  of  Revolutionary  times,  and 
again  he  has  succeeded  in  making  an  interesting  story.” — New  York  Com * 
mercial  Advertiser. 

The  Strength  of  the  Weak. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  delightful  outdoor  quality  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss’s  novel  forms  a charming 
accompaniment  to  the  adventurous  happenings  of  the  romance.  The 
author  has  found  some  apt  suggestions  in  the  diary  of  a soldier  of  the  New 
Hampshire  Grants,  and  these  actual  experiences  have  been  utilized  in  the 
development  of  the  tale. 

Betsy  Ross. 

A Romance  of  the  Flag.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

“A  novelized  drama,  and  a right  good  one,  too,  with  plenty  of  stir, 
patriotism,  and  love.” — New  York  World. 

“‘Betsy  Ross’  reaches  the  American  ideal  in  fiction.  It  is  the  long- 
looked-for  American  novel.  Stirring,  intense,  dealing  with  great  native 
characters,  and  recalling  some  of  the  noblest  incidents  connected  with  our 
national  history,  it  is  the  one  novel  of  the  time  that  fulfills  the  ideal  that  we 
had  all  conceived,  but  no  one  had  before  accomplished.” — Philadelphia  Item. 

In  Defiance  of  the  King. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

“A  remarkably  good  story.  . . . The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel 
ourselves  taking  a part  in  the  exciting  scenes  described,  the  popular  breeze 
seizes  upon  us  and  whirls  us  away  into  the  tumult  of  war.” — Chicago  Even- 
ing post. 

A Colonial  Free-Lance. 

nmo.  Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

“A  fine,  stirring  picture  of  the  period,  full  of  brave  deeds,  startling  though 
not  improbable  incidents,  and  of  absorbing  interest  from  beginning  to  end.” 
— Boston  Transcript. 

“A  brave,  moving,  spirited,  readable  romance.  Every  one  of  his  pages 
is  aglow  with  the  fire  of  patriotism,  the  vigor  of  adventure,  and  the  daring  of 
reckless  bravery.” — Washington  Times. 


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By  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER. 


Each,  1 2 mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

Place  and  Power.  With  8 full-page  Illustrations. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious  young  man  whose  most  cherished  aims  are 
frustrated  through  retributive  justice.  The  story  is  lull  of  interest  and 
attractive  characterization,  the  main  action  of  the  plot  is  skilfully  hidden 
until  the  right  moment,  and  the  dialogue  is  entertaining  and  clever. 

Sirius.  A Volume  of  Fiction. 

“ Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler’s  latest  production  has  richer  sources  of 
entertainment  than  any  one  book  she  has  yet  written,  inasmuch  as  it  has 
more  characters,  more  conversation,  and  more  epigrams.” — Chicago  Ij  ibune. 

Cupid’s  Garden.  With  new  Portrait  of  the  Author. 

“ Whatever  this  author  sends  out  has  freshness  and  originality,  and  her 
sketches  of  people  are  so  deftly  drawn  that  one  wonders  at  the  versatility. 
* Cupid’s  Garden  ’ is  a collection  of  stories  of  love,  not  all  of  which  run 
smooth,  but  which  all  exhibit  some  noble  trait  of  the  tender  passion.” — 
Indianapolis  News. 

The  Farringdons. 

“ ‘The  Farringdons’  is  a serious,  and  a sound  piece  of  work,  and  there 
is  about  it  a note  of  thoroughly  genuine  piety,  which  is  very  far  from  being 
religiosity.  ...  It  is  bright,  it  is  interesting,  and  the  denouement  is  just 
what  we  all  would  wish  it  to  be.” — London  Chronicle. 

Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby.  New  edition,  with  Porr 
trait  and  Biographical  Sketch  of  the  Author. 

“ Rarely  does  one  find  such  a charming  combination  of  wit  and  tender- 
ness, of  brilliancy,  and  reverence  for  the  things  that  matter.  ...  It  is 
bright  without  being  flippant,  tender  without  being  mawkish,  and  as  joyous 
and  as  wholesome  as  sunshine  The  characters  are  closely  studied  and 
clearly  limned,  and  they  are  created  by  one  who  knows  human  nature.  . . . 
It  would  be  hard  to  find  its  superior  for  all-around  excellence.  . . . No  one 
who  reads  it  will  regret  it  or  forget  it.” — Chicago  Tribune. 

A Double  Thread. 

“ Brilliant  and  witty.  Shows  fine  insight  into  character.” — Minneapolis 
Journal. 

“ Crowded  with  interesting  people.  One  of  the  most  enjoyable  stories 
of  the  season." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


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